


One, Two, Tick, Tock

by MaryEvH



Series: One, Two, Tick, Tock [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6635815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryEvH/pseuds/MaryEvH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paris, 1832. Revolution is brewing, and all Damien-Henri Enjolras can see is his Patria. Until she comes along…Kind of modern AU with Enjolras/Éponine, one-sided Ép/'Ferre, maybe a little one-sided E/R. Rated T for language and mild violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by ["Lessons On Loving a Prophet"](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/192196) by imthehero-ofthestory. 



_She had always known how it would end, but she was never fully prepared for this._

_His limp body lay at her feet, and she wept freely. This couldn’t be the same man that had just loved her so well – no, the real him had to be around here somewhere…he couldn’t be dead before her now. He would pop out of the shadows around the next corner any second, proud of his joke, and hold her when he saw she was upset with him…again._

_Almost afraid, she reached out to touch his still form. The hair that had been soft, smooth and barely sweaty between her fingers a single passionate night ago was now tangled and matted with dried blood. There was no morning stubble lining his cheek now, only angry scratches that were dirty with the debris of the barricade. The blue eyes she had adored were closed for the last time. His clothes were ripped, patched with dirt and red from wounds that had long ceased oozing his life. She pulled back his shirt, and when she saw the eight bullet wounds in his chest, she cried again, more freely than before. His legs, too, were broken from the fall out the window. This couldn’t be real. None of this could be. Her Marble Man had to be still intact, alive, somewhere nearby._

_She stroked his hair back from his face, closed her eyes, and remembered their last night together – the way he had looked at her like she was a goddess the minute she walked in, the way his huge, warm hand had enveloped her tiny one, the way his lips had tasted against hers…and most of all, she remembered the feel of his body – flesh pressing against flesh, their sweat mingling in the bliss they could only find together. She heard his voice in her head again, crying out her name in a fervent ecstasy that she knew no revolution had ever given him – the kind that only came when he was with her. She remembered crying out his name in the same way, wanting nothing but him, and for those nights to never end._

_Even though the sun would always come up on them still tangled in each other, she never wanted to leave his bed. She remembered lying next to him until he woke, listening to his even breathing and holding his hand, still sweaty from the night before, retracing the lines her fingernails had made in his back that had now faded to a raw pink. The memories were enough to push her heart over the edge again, and Éponine Thénardier burst into fresh tears for the Marble Man that would never love her again – for her Damien-Henri Enjolras._


	2. Chapter One

_One_  
_You know how this ends._  
 _There's nothing you can do to change it, so make peace with it now._  
 _Ready your hands for the callus, shred cloth for the bandages, prepare the rosaries._

 

Enjolras had always known how this would end.

He knew there was nothing he could do to change it, and he made peace with it long before it had even begun.

It took him hours, agonizing on how to say it, but when he knew he wanted to lead the revolution in Paris, he finally gathered the courage to pick up the phone. He called his family in Bordeaux and told them to prepare for his death – he told them not to mourn him, but to prepare the rosaries for his funeral mass, and for his friends. His father was furious; his mother refused to be pessimistic, and his sisters begged him to come home.

Enjolras himself, on the other hand, knew he was going to die. The clock was ticking for him, and soon, it would stop forever.

But he didn’t care, because it was for the love of his _Patria._

 

Éponine had always known how this would end.

She knew there was nothing she could do to change it, but she never managed to make peace with that fact.

When she knew there was going to be a revolution, she composed too many desperate Facebook messages to all of the _Amis_ that would never be sent to any of them, begging them to _think_ for once, to consider their own lives before their country. Before hitting _Delete,_ she pleaded with them to stay home, to try their best to keep their discontent to themselves.

Because in truth, she was nothing without her friends, and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing them all.

 

Combeferre had always known how this would end.

He knew there was nothing he could do to change it, and did his best to make peace with it before it began.

When he decided to take part in the revolution, he did what Enjolras had done – read and read and read and read and _read._ He studied medicine at university, but all of the _Amis_ said he was a philosopher at heart. He read the works of the _philosophes,_ Locke, Paine, and even Franklin – anything he could get his hands on. If he wasn’t reading a medical textbook, he was reading philosophy. Before long, the _Amis_ were calling him their second face, the embodiment of their philosophy.

He knew, discussing with Enjolras and listening to his plans, that they were all going to die.

And he knew he would never get to tell Ép that he loved her.

 

Courfeyrac had always known how this would end.

He knew there was nothing he could do to change it, and he made peace with it before it began.

When he, Combeferre, and Enjolras first got the _Amis_ together in the name of rebellion, he had a sick premonition that things wouldn’t go well for them. Enjolras had always been a little insane, but this was pure crazy talk – barricades? Stockpiling? Philosophy? What had gotten into him?

All Courf knew was that he was going to lose his life for the _Patria._

 

Gavroche had always known how this would end.

He knew there was nothing he could do to change it, but being nine years old, neither could he make peace with it.

When the _Amis_ recruited him to be a spy, he couldn’t have been more thrilled. Ép – good ol’ Ép – had recommended him to Enjolras, who then requested to meet him and approved. Gavroche had then gotten together a group of his school friends, who lived in the elephant in the middle of Paris, to help him help the _Amis._

Little Gav, for all his youth, was quite wise.

 

Grantaire had always known how this would end.

He knew there was nothing he could do to change it, and he made peace with it long before the revolution began.

When he joined the _Amis,_ he didn’t care about – or even understand – anything Enjolras ever said. He went to the Café Musain for the beer, and just to admire the man he idolized, adored. He never truly believed in the revolution, but he had always believed in Damien-Henri Enjolras, more than he had ever believed in anything.

All Grant knew was that he was going to lose him.

 

Joly had always known how this would end.

He knew there was nothing he could do to change it, and he made peace with it before it had begun.

When he joined the _Amis,_ he was sure he would die. It tore him up for a long time, knowing exactly what it would do to his girlfriend, Muschietta – he’d break her heart when he left her behind. He wanted to propose to her more than anything, but it seemed pointless with this end so near.

All Joly knew was that he would die for the _Patria,_ and leave Muschietta to mourn him.


	3. Chapter Two

_Two  
_ _When you meet him (outside the grocery, along the boardwalk, beneath the overpass),  
_ _You will not know what he is.  
_ _He will be neither too charming nor too handsome, not thunder, not polish_

 

Ép didn’t quite know what he was.

It was another normal day walking through Paris after school – she needed to get some groceries for Gav and his friends living in the elephant, and then get back home and finish her homework. She was walking along the street, texting her best friend Muschietta to hang out later, and overall just minding her own business when she saw him.

The first thing she could say about him was that he was striking – it was the only word she could think of. As she looked at him longer, more words and associations started to come to mind. No, handsome wasn’t really a good word…more like _beautiful._ She never thought she’d use that word to describe a man, but it seemed to fit him. He reminded her of the heroes of mythology she had read about in school; he seemed to carry himself that way. She saw that he had a nice body, wavy golden hair down to the nape of his neck that moved with the light breeze.

But what got her the most were his eyes. They were a light, clear blue, and so piercing that she thought he could see straight to her soul. She involuntarily sucked in a breath when her dark brown ones made contact with those gorgeous orbs.

She was about to walk into the grocery store, and he was holding the door open for her, ushering her in. “Th-Thank you, _Monsieur,”_ she stammered a little awkwardly, trying to tear her gaze away from those arresting eyes, but to no avail. They continued to hold her captive with their depth and color.

He merely nodded. _“Mademoiselle.”_ His voice was rather deep, but not too much so. He spoke the single address with courtesy and a strange aloofness that she couldn’t quite make sense of.

That broke the spell of his eyes, and she visibly flinched at it. “Don’t call me that.”

He frowned. “And why not?”

“Because I’m no lady, _Monsieur,”_ she said.

His eyebrow went up, but he didn’t protest her claim. “If you say so, but I believe all the citizens of France are equal, and therefore, in my eyes, you are a _Mademoiselle.”_

Ép rolled her eyes. “Oh God, you’re one of those.”

The eyebrow rose higher. “And what does that mean?”

“You’re one of those fanatic republicans trying to reform the country, aren’t you?” She asked.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” he chuckled. “I don’t doubt I’ll see you around, _Mademoiselle,”_ he said, letting go of the door as his back turned to her, and he walked away. Éponine found herself struck by this strange man, and by his equally strange demeanor – he had first called her a _Mademoiselle,_ and hardly resisted her when she told him not to. Even though he had called her _Mademoiselle_ anyway, she didn’t cringe the second time the way she would have if it had been anyone else. Thankfully, Muschietta soon answered her text, and she was able to get him out of her head for the time being.

 

Éponine was shocked at herself when she found it hard not to gush to Muschietta about him when they hung out that day at ‘Chetta’s house. Okay, he was gorgeous, but why would she be so captivated? Ép had never been the boy crazy type in her life, and ‘Chetta knew that. They had been the best of friends for years. In talking about him to ‘Chetta, Ép discovered his identity – he was Damien-Henri Enjolras, a good friend of ‘Chetta’s boyfriend, Jean-Baptiste Joly, and Éponine’s secret love, the rich Baron Marius Pontmercy.

“Oh Ép, he’s gorgeous!” Muschietta gushed. “I have to say, I can’t blame you at all for liking him!”

“I – what?!” Éponine spluttered, completely taken aback by her sudden assumption. “I don’t _like_ him, ‘Chetta! I talked to him for two minutes outside the grocery store! That doesn’t mean I like him! You know I’m crazy about Marius!”

“Please, Ép. I can see it in your eyes!” her best friend grinned, relishing in her new secret. “Ép has a cru-ush!” she started crowing at the top of her lungs, laughing hysterically as she did so.

“Come on, not so loud!” Éponine laughed. “Alright, maybe I do like him a _little_ bit. But only a little bit!” she added a little defensively. “Anyway, he seemed kinda snobby. I don’t think I’ll like him much if I get to know him that well.”

 

Soon after, though, she saw him again.

Later that day, the pair was walking down the sidewalk on the rougher side of town when they saw him approaching. _What’s he doing on this side of town? He’s a rich boy; he doesn’t belong over here._ “Oh, dear God,” Éponine muttered under her breath, groaning quietly when she saw the devious grin on her best friend’s face. “’Chetta, please – ” she tried to beg, but it was already too late.

“ENJOLRAS!” Muschietta hollered at the top of her lungs, waving frantically to get his attention. She soon caught his eye, and Ép saw the click of recognition in them as he approached. “Muschietta,” he murmured politely, in stark contrast to her enthusiastic greeting. Taking her hand, he bowed and kissed it. “Always a pleasure to see you. And _Mademoiselle,_ we meet again,” he said with a wry smile, repeating the gesture. His somewhat anachronistic politeness was rather charming, Ép had to admit, though she again cringed at his salutation.

 _“Monsieur,”_ she murmured. “I’ve told you not to call me that.”

Enjolras only chuckled. “I have to say, I never thought I’d meet a woman opposed to being addressed as a lady,” he said.

“I merely don’t deserve it,” Éponine answered without missing a beat. His eyebrows went up, and she thought he took a step back.

“And what makes you say that?” he asked, restraining himself from using the title again. “Every woman deserves the address of _Mademoiselle,_ despite what she thinks.”

Éponine snorted in disdain. “Clearly you haven’t spent enough time around me, _Monsieur_ Enjolras.”

“I assume that can be arranged?” he asked almost instantly.

“Of course!” ‘Chetta exclaimed, grinning ear to ear.

_Shit. ‘Chetta’s gonna go WAAAAY overboard._

“Very good,” he said with a nod. “Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I’m late to a rather important meeting.” He kissed their hands again, and with a final “Good day,” he was gone. Ép watched his back as he retreated, amazed at the way he carried himself and still somewhat captivated by those gorgeous eyes. They were just as she had remembered – powerful, yet gentle, and arresting the moment they made contact with her brown ones. She was jerked back to reality when ‘Chetta started giggling in her ear again.

“Oh, shut up!” Ép said, which only made her best friend burst into hysterical laughter.

“I’m sorry; I just can’t let this one go, Ép!” she managed to gasp out between laughs. Ép just sighed and shook her head at her best friend’s loss of control, before grabbing her arm and walking her back home.

 

The third time she saw him, she was alone again.

She was sitting beneath the overpass by the café on Rue Saint-Denis, watching the cars zoom by and occasionally picking a pocket while she begged from passersby. She hated doing this, especially since many of them simply spat and walked on by, but it was one of her few ways of picking up extra change that didn’t involve selling her body, so she did it as much as she could. Gav needed her, after all, and their parents weren’t going to do shit to help them.

Enjolras stepped out of the café, seemingly needing a breath of fresh air. _Dammit!_ She thought, doing her best to hide in the giant brown coat and men’s cap she wore.

“Hello again, _Mademoiselle,”_ he murmured, his back still to her.

_Fuck. How did he see me over here?_

“May I ask what you’re doing down there?” he asked, his tone still infuriatingly calm.

“Are we going to have this damn conversation every time I see you?” Éponine snapped impatiently, pulling the overly large coat even tighter around her emaciated body. “I don’t like being called that, and you should know it by now.”

“Well, it’d be easier to address you if you told me your name,” he countered, squatting next to her on the sidewalk. “Otherwise, I’ll be forced to call you _Mademoiselle_ every time I see you.” He drew out the emphasis on the title, and it was all she could do not to cringe again. She glared at him for a moment, before she grudgingly replied, “Éponine. If we get to know each other well, _maybe_ you can call me Ép. But try that right now, and I might smack you.” She promptly turned away and said to a rich-looking passerby, “Please, _Monsieur,_ could you spare a few sous to help a poor girl?” She cringed as his boot made contact with her ribcage in reply.

“Get out of the street, you whore!” he shouted as he walked away.

“Apparently not,” she muttered, cradling her ribs and wincing at the pain when she tried to breathe. Enjolras couldn’t decide if he wanted to chase the man down and beat him to a pulp, or take the _Mademoiselle_ – Éponine, he knew now was her name – back to the café. He knew Joly could help her; he was better than any of the professional doctors in Paris. In the end, he decided on the latter. He couldn’t take care of every scumbag in the world, and Éponine clearly needed help now.

“Come with me, _Made –_ Éponine,” he offered, standing up and extending a hand. “I can take you to a friend of mine who’s training to be a doctor. He’ll get your ribs taken care of.” She looked at him doubtfully for a moment, before she cautiously took his hand, and he slowly helped her up. “Can you walk?”

She nodded slowly. “I think so,” she said, still cradling her ribcage with her left arm. As his right arm snaked around her waist, she reached out to grab it for extra support. “How far am I going?”

“Not far at all,” he said with a slight chuckle, pointing to the café in front of them. “My friends are all in there, including Joly, the doctor. I’ll take you straight to him.”

She nodded. “Thank you, _Monsieur.”_

Ép didn’t quite know what he was.

Okay, that was a lie. She knew exactly what he was – he was sometimes charming, sometimes irritating has hell, and always able to captivate her with nothing more than one glance into his eyes. She lay on that table in the Café as the student doctor, Joly, wrapped up her ribs, trying to get him out of her head, but all in vain.

What was going on with her?


	4. Chapter Three

_Three_  
_The day you fall in love, his mouth will spill your name._  
 _He will repeat and repeat. He will not touch you._  
 _He will watch your hips, study whatever ample you have, will ask to watch you dance._  
 _When you turn to leave, he will use your name like a choke chain._

 

He fell in love in a single night.

Everyone else thought he was the untouchable “Marble Man.” Among the _Amis,_ it was always, “Enjolras the Leader, Combeferre the Guide and Courfeyrac the Center,” but in truth, he was no god. He was just as human as they were. And this woman had cracked his marble heart and written her name on it just under _Patria_. He never thought it would happen, but a woman – the most unlikely woman in the world – had entirely, utterly claimed him. It didn’t matter that he had only met her three times. Everything about her – her fiery stubbornness, her complete unwillingness to be called by a title, everything – had captivated him completely.

Enjolras was utterly lost to Éponine.

 

It was a normal Saturday night at the ABC.

He got to the Café Musain early, as he always did, and got everything ready for the night’s meeting. He would be giving a speech on the political writings of Rousseau in an attempt to make the _Amis_ feel the spirit of revolution that he felt, and was finalizing the notes he had on his few index cards when his good friend Marius Pontmercy arrived.

“Ah, Pontmercy,” he said with a nod when he turned to see the younger man. “You’re early tonight, I see.”

“Did I disrupt our great leader from his deep political thoughts?” the other laughed. Enjolras couldn’t help but smile; he liked Marius, even if the man had a tendency to be a bit…distracted at times.

“No, not at all. Please, make yourself comfortable,” Enjolras answered in his usual formal manner, gesturing to a table near his.

“Come on in, Ép,” Marius grinned. “Don’t worry, it’s just us and good old Enjolras right now.”

_Wait – did he just say Ép?_

Enjolras turned, and sure enough, the _Mademoiselle_ he loved was behind Pontmercy, staring down at her shoes and looking extremely uncomfortable as she followed Pontmercy to the table. Enjolras’ heart soared when he laid eyes on her again. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, hold her, tell her, _It’s alright, Éponine. Don’t’ be afraid of us; I’m here._ Pontmercy smiled as they sat down, started talking to her, and soon her nerves clearly melted away.

Enjolras wasn’t a romantic – he never had been – but he knew what he was seeing, and it broke his heart.

Éponine was in love with Marius.

He had to turn his back to them once the realization hit, or risk breaking his ever-present composure, and he couldn’t afford to do that now. As much as he tried, he couldn’t keep his chest from heaving, his head from spinning, and a tear even managed to slip down his cheek.

 _How? Why?_ He asked himself. _How is it him? Why can’t it be me?_

“Enjolras?” he was aware of Marius’ distant voice behind him, before a hand was on his shoulder. “Are you well, _mon ami?”_

Enjolras couldn’t force himself to make eye contact with his friend. “A sudden headache…” he croaked, surprised at how his own voice had suddenly betrayed him. “I’ll be fine in a moment; I just need some air.” He swallowed hard, suppressing more tears, before awkwardly hurrying out of the Café Neither Marius nor Éponine could see him this way.

_Éponine…_

_Éponine…_

“Éponine…” he groaned under his breath once he was outside. He fell to his knees on the cobblestones, holding his head in his hands, his mouth still spilling her name, over and over. “Oh, Éponine …” _She was never mine to lose…why regret what cannot be?_ “Éponine…”

“Enjolras?” the woman’s voice asked behind him, almost in reply.

 _Shit!_ He hastily wiped his eyes and tried to regain his composure before turning to face her. “Ah, Éponine. You startled me,” he said, trying to keep his voice as flat as he could. All the same, when he watched her face, all he could do was hope that she couldn’t hear his voice shaking, that she couldn’t see just how red his eyes were from weeping for her.

She looked doubtful of him for a moment, before asking as calmly as she could, “What’s going on? Are you sure…?”

“Sure of what?” he tried not to snap.

“Well…that you’re alright?” she asked, now clearly worried. She reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but he remained impervious to her touch, and did not extend an arm to return the gesture. Instead, he just forced himself to nod, act as though her warm skin touching his shirt didn’t set his body on fire.

“It’s just a headache,” he said, laughing a little nervously. “I have a speech to give tonight; I’ll be fine by then. I have to be. There’s no way Rousseau will stir them if I don’t deliver it convincingly.”

She smiled, a little unsurely, as if trying to make the conversation a little less awkward. “Well good, because we’re only waiting on Bahorel and Combeferre now.”

He nodded, a bit of his usual demeanor returning. “Very good. Tell them I’ll be right in.” As she nodded and left, the door of the Café shutting behind her, Enjolras closed his eyes and took a deep breath, a few more tears slipping out from between the lids.

_She does not love you, Damien. She could never love you. Not the way she loves him. You must let her go and move on, for the sake of France. You have no other choice._

_But how…?_

All through his impassioned speech on Rousseau, all Enjolras could focus on was the woman in the corner, sitting next to Marius, and seemingly transfixed by his words, which only encouraged him more. He found himself slamming his hands on the table more emphatically, shouting at the top of his lungs more than usual, and his audience response was better. He stepped down, and the _Amis_ instantly erupted into loud applause and louder choruses of _“Vive le France! Vive General Lamarque!”_

But as soon as the fervor of revolution faded from his heart for the night, he was back outside the Café, kneeling on the cobblestones and weeping as he asked God why – why she loved Marius, why she couldn’t seem to see him. For all his pleading, he still couldn’t get an answer. When he finally composed himself enough to go back in, he watched her hips as she walked back and forth across the room, studied the curves of her body, the way she laughed as Marius whispered something in her ear, trying to memorize them as if he would never see her again.

_Éponine…beautiful Éponine…I could never tell you how I love you._

 

But when Marius left the Café, she stayed behind.

Enjolras was unaware that she was still there until he looked up from his computer to see her sitting at a table a few feet away, fiddling absentmindedly with the saltshaker and staring into space. He watched her for a moment, taking her in, before he decided to speak.

“You’re still here?”

_Obviously, you idiot._

She nodded, a little more relaxed now that they were alone, but still not looking at him. “I loved your speech.”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows at her, quite taken aback. “P-Pardon?”

She chuckled a little at his surprise. “I said, I loved your speech. Y’know, the one you gave on Rousseau tonight? It was great…really great. It made me think…”

His heart was warmed by the praise, more so since it came from her. “And what did you think about?” he asked curiously, turning to face her a little more directly.

“That you’re right,” she answered without hesitation, and his eyebrows went up again.

“About?”

“About France…that it does need to be changed and reformed. I’ve lived what you’re trying to eradicate…and I want to help you end it in any way I can. No one should have to live the life I’ve led.”

“Forgive me if I’m prying,” he said slowly, “but…what life is that?”

She hesitated, biting her lip before answering. “A very rough one…”

Afraid that he had crossed an unknown line, he quickly backtracked. “Forgive me, I-I didn’t mean – ”

“No, it’s alright,” she insisted, and he uncomfortably relaxed. “Let’s just say…well, that I’ve experienced lots more unsavory things than most girls my age.” She bit her lip, and he watched her a little nervously. “But those are rare occasions,” she said, a ghost of a tight smile returning to her face. “Mostly I just dance at my parents’ bar.”

He smiled also. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful dancer.”

_Oh come on. What was that, Damien? What are you trying to do?_

She chuckled. “Well, if we move the tables and you give me music, I can show you,” she said, smiling.

His heart nearly stopped at the mere possibility. “If it’s not too much to ask…could I please watch you dance?”

“Of course!” she said, promptly standing up. “I’ll just need your help getting these tables out of the way.”

 

About an hour and a half later, the two of them had scooted all the tables and chairs to one side of the large downstairs room. Enjolras took a picture of the original layout on his iPhone to make sure they would get the arrangement right when they finished. He had to unbutton his shirt partway through the process, which made him slightly uncomfortable. He wasn’t a virgin – that ship had sailed long ago, and he was far from inexperienced in bed – but he was more used to being completely covered around women, especially Éponine, because of his feelings for her. And in any case, something about his shirt flapping around so easily just made him jumpy.

“Alright,” she said almost breathlessly when the last table was moved, pulling back her long hair as she began tying it up. “Now we just have to pick the music. Got your laptop?”

After he re-buttoned his shirt, they spent about 5 minutes scrolling through his extensive iTunes library, Éponine still putting up her hair, before they settled on the live version of “In Your Atmosphere” by John Mayer. “Ooh, I just did a killer ballet to this the other night!” she said in excitement, hastily pulling off her sneakers and socks. “I think you’ll love it.”

“You prefer to dance barefoot?”

“It’s easier than dancing in those shoes,” she laughed. “I keep my ballet shoes in the back room at the bar, but if I don’t have those, it’s easiest to dance with nothing on my feet.”

She placed her right heel against the windowsill and leaned over to it, pointing her foot beautifully and reaching out to touch her toes. Enjolras couldn’t help but admire her graceful body as she did the same on the other leg, before a couple more side stretches. Everything she did, eyes closed and breathing peaceful, only made him fall in love with her more.

He sat in the chair they had set out for him as Éponine took what they were calling “center stage,” her arms moving into position in front of her body. Her hair was tamed into a perfect dancer’s bun, and she wore only a black tank top and gray skinny jeans. Her perfect, high-arched feet were bare against the wood floor as she balanced on the balls of her feet, the backs of her calloused heels lightly touching. “Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” she smiled.

“3, 2, 1…”

She was off the instant he started the music. She leaned to the right, her arms pointed up a diagonal line from her side, and her left leg extended with a perfect pointed foot. Deep pliés, countless pirouettes, perfectly timed pauses, wide splits and breathtaking leaps followed that kept him mesmerized. He caught himself not breathing several times, trying not to miss the sound of her breathing as she danced, or the sounds of her bare feet hitting the wooden floorboards when she came down.

As the song came to an end, she came to a perfect _Tendu à devant_ with her arms in fifth position, perfectly in time. The way her right leg ended with her foot parallel to her hips, her left leg in front of her, both arms over her head, her peaceful gaze heavenward, left him breathless. She was a picture of beauty; he almost wished Grantaire were there to do a quick sketch of it for him. When he wasn’t in a drunken stupor, he was an incredible artist.

“Well?” she chuckled when she saw his awestruck face. He could tell she was slightly out of breath as she grinned at him, a few hairs starting to fly out of her bun.

It took him a minute to remember how to speak, and even when he did, he was still at a loss for words. “It was beautiful,” he whispered.

She grinned, walking over to embrace him. He was quite surprised by the gesture, but managed to return it. He noticed her arms were covered in a thin layer of sweat from the exertion of the dance. “Thank you,” she said, still smiling. The simple gesture nearly made his heart stop. How was he already so infatuated with this woman that, in reality, he barely knew? Yet he couldn’t deny what his heart told him – he loved her. More than life itself, and he would do anything for her.

_So…this is love._

“Well, I should probably get going…” she murmured as she released him, still smiling as she turned her back.

“Éponine!” he said as she approached the door, covering his mouth when he realized he’d actually spoken. The effect was a like a choke chain. She turned instantly, and he had to quickly uncover his mouth. The look in her eyes was curious, questioning, and almost confused.

“Yes?” she asked, approaching him again.

 _Shit…what do I say?!_ “Well…can you stay a little longer? I do need some help with these tables, after all.” _Whew. Safe._

She looked at him for a second, before her smile came back. “Alright, if you insist,” she laughed. After moving the tables back, they sat, talked, ate and laughed until after 2:00 in the morning.

He knew, and yet didn’t, why he chuckled at the sight of her snoring on the table at 2:30, or even why he took her back to her apartment, fished out her keys, and tucked her into her bed before going back to his own small flat for what was left of the night.

He knew, and yet didn’t, that he was wholly in love with Éponine-Marguerite Thénardier, the dancer, the street rat in rags who was only a kid, but hard to scare.

He loved her with all he was, and yet didn’t realize it.


	5. Chapter Four

_Four_  
_He will call you miracle. Your face will unravel._  
 _This is his magic._  
 _When he begs you promise, say yes._

 

She fell in love that same magical night.

Dancing for Enjolras was unlike anything else she had ever done. It was the same ballet as the previous night at the bar, and at first she thought nothing of doing it again for him. But when it was only the two of them in the dark Café Musain instead of a huge bar crowd wolf-whistling at her, the music playing softly from his laptop instead of blaring from the speakers, she found a new passion and energy for dancing – dancing for him – that she didn’t know she could have.

It had been hard, convincing Marius to let her stay behind and go home on her own; despite his love for Cosette, he was incredibly protective of his best friend. However, she managed to tell him enough times that she was tough and could take care of herself before he let her stay at the Café with Enjolras. Even though she didn’t know how she woke up in her own bed the next morning, she couldn’t regret anything that had happened the previous night.

During the day, she constantly caught herself remembering the few, fleeting glimpses she caught of his face as she had danced, hearing him gasp in a breath as she did, the way his eyes had grown wide at her biggest leap of the song that ended in a pirouette, in the third verse – right at “The ten and the two is the loneliest sight!” Seeing him so vulnerable to such deep emotion as her dancing brought was an incredible experience for Éponine, and it haunted her in the best way possible.

At night, the dreams were almost real. When she went to bed every night, she would close her eyes and pretend he was next to her, just for a moment, so she could fall asleep more easily. More than once, Éponine thought she felt Enjolras’ breathing on her neck, his arm around her waist, the other hand gently petting her hair over and over, like petting the cat that frequented her apartment.

She knew, and yet didn’t, that she was in love with Damien-Henri Enjolras, the Marble Man in the red jacket, leading the revolution that would likely kill him.

She loved him with all she was, and yet was oblivious to it.

 

Éponine started going to the ABC with Marius on the weekends more and more frequently – not for the Café’s food or drink, or even the speeches, but just to look at him – the way he would stand erect as he spoke, his passion for the cause he led, the way he would make eye contact with everyone in the room – including her – at every pause.

Inside, she was ever conflicted – her heart had pined for Marius for so long, despite his love for Cosette, yet here was this “Marble Man,” this statue, that had seemingly warmed to her so easily. He still retained his anachronistic formality of manners – and even distance – much of the time, but even so, she couldn’t help but think he was…changing, in a way.

She didn’t know how, but the Marble Man seemed to be cracking.

 

For weeks, she stayed behind when the rest of the ABC left, just for the small thrill of being alone with Enjolras, seeing him as more than just the revolution’s leader. Sometimes she danced the previous night’s dance from the bar for him, sometimes she sang, or played the old piano in the corner, or any combination thereof. No matter what happened when everyone else left, they were always there past 1:00 in the morning – their record was 6:00 the next Sunday morning; he slept for half an hour before getting ready for the 8:00 a.m. Mass he attended.

They never seemed to tire of each other’s company, no matter how many hours they sat in the dark Café. Even outside the ABC, he was seen around town with her more and more frequently – he helped her clean her apartment when she needed it, he waited for her outside the high school each day when his classes at the university ended, and he helped her get the groceries and take them to her little brother, Gavroche. Enjolras even tutored the little boy in math and science when he needed it. Soon, he was doing much better in all of his classes. Éponine was incredibly grateful for all of his help; she and Gavroche had been self-sufficient since she was about 10, and it was nice to have someone on their side again.

One afternoon, in mid-May, they were sitting at the foot of a fountain in the middle of town, eating a small lunch when she spoke.

“Hey…can I ask you something?” she said slowly between bites of her sandwich.

Enjolras closed the Facebook page he was looking at on his phone and looked up at her as the phone went into his jeans pocket. “Of course, Éponine. You can ask me anything,” he answered, digging back into his salad as he looked expectantly at her.

She took a deep breath and a drink of water, folding her hands in her lap and looking at them. “Why…do you do so much to help me and Gavroche? You don’t have to do everything that you do for us, and yet, you always want to go the extra mile, especially with him.”

He looked a little surprised at her question, but answered her nonetheless, setting down his salad to do so. “Éponine, we’re friends,” he said. “Friends do whatever they can for those they love, especially when it includes going the extra mile.” He took another bite of salad, asking when he swallowed, “I’m curious; what brought that on?”

Éponine shook her head. “My own damn paranoia, I guess,” she answered with an uneasy laugh. “You know I didn’t have the best childhood…I always get suspicious when people try to help, even when it’s you and your ever-pure intentions.”

Enjolras nodded understandingly. “You’re a Thénardier; suspicion is in your blood. Frankly, with what you’ve told me about how your father treated you and Gavroche, I’m amazed you made it past the age of 10.”

“I almost didn’t,” she said. “Papa tried to sell me out on the streets one night…”

He gaped. “He tried to make you a whore when you were 10?”

She nodded, looking away in shame. “I barely escaped. But then, of course, he got me back…”

“Wait,” he said slowly, piecing the information together and looking at her in horror. “You don’t mean…?”

“I wish I didn’t…but I’m still out on the streets, Enjolras,” she said, clearly ashamed. “Every night I’m not with you at the ABC, I’m at the bar. When I finish dancing, it’s out of my ballet wear and into my stilettos, miniskirts and low-cut tank tops.” She closed her eyes, biting her lower lip. “Papa makes me take at least 6 men a night. As soon as the first one leaves, I have five minutes before I have to be back outside for the next.”

“And if you don’t?” he asked, afraid of what she’d say.

“There’s hell to pay,” she answered in a shaky whisper. “He’ll beat me, he’ll starve me, he’ll lock me in my room for days on end, until I think I’m going to go crazy…you and the ABC are my only salvation from that hellhole I have to call home.”

“Oh, Éponine…” he whispered, holding her in his arms as she finally started to cry. “You miracle…”

She unraveled in his arms, crying harder and harder. Finally, someone knew. She knew for the longest time that she needed to tell _someone_ what she was going through – someone who wouldn’t hate her, or push her away, or view her as an object because of what she was forced to do.

She had found him. She was in his arms, crying her eyes out on his shoulder as he called her a miracle. This was his magic – holding her, comforting her, caring about her despite his marble façade.

“Éponine…” Enjolras murmured when her sobs lulled. “My miracle girl…I need you to make me a promise.”

She looked up at him, wiping her eyes. “What?”

“Promise me you won’t let him get you anymore,” Enjolras pleaded desperately, pressing her hands between his. She had never seen such urgency in one man’s eyes. “Please…run away, get out of there – come live with me if you have to. Please, just promise me that. I beg you,” he whispered. “Please, promise me…”

She hesitated for a moment, then whispered, “Yes, I promise.”

In an instant, he was squeezing her even more tightly than before, and she was crying again. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I can’t bear to know that’s been happening to you, and I haven’t been trying to fix it…”

 _“Mon Dieu,_ Enjolras, how can you care so much?” she gasped between sobs. “I don’t understand…my past is filled with so much shame, and you accept me and comfort me the same…”

He took her face in his hands and made her look into his eyes. “Do I wish it were different? _Of course I do._ Do I wish I could have fixed it? _Of course I do._ Am I going to judge you for circumstances that were forced on you? _Of course not._ We’re friends, Ép, and I know what happened wasn’t your fault. There’s no way I could judge you for it.” She broke down crying for a third time, and all he did was hold her. “Shh, it’s alright, I’m here…” he murmured. “Come live with me, Ép. I’ll keep you safe.”

Éponine looked up at him, wide-eyed. “A-are you sure?”

He gave a small smile as he looked at her, kissing her forehead and murmured, “I’m sure.”

She smiled back, a little unsurely. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

 

Over the next three weeks, Enjolras and Éponine gradually settled into living together in his flat. Despite the fact that they had separate rooms and bathrooms, their interaction was still quite frequent; his place wasn’t very big. He discovered that she liked to brush her teeth immediately after her shower, and she discovered that he was quite the cook, though she knew he’d never admit it. Other small, annoying habits gradually emerged also – he liked to drum his fingers while deep in thought over politics, she could sing the same song aloud 15 times in one day and not realize it – the list grew as time passed. Nonetheless, they enjoyed each other’s company, and still never tired of the others’ presence.

A bit to Enjolras’ dismay, Éponine insisted on taking up household duties as soon as she moved in – she let him stay in charge of the cooking, admitting she would even burn water, but she insisted on doing the dishes, vacuuming, and dusting the entire flat on an almost daily basis, despite the fact that she was still in school. They argued about it several times, and even though she accepted his help, she refused to live there and not help around the house. Eventually, she forced him to relent.

She did her best to lay low for a while after the move; it went without saying for both of them that her father would be beyond furious about her disappearance from the bar. Ép warned Enjolras to keep an eye out for any suspicious characters hiding in the shadows and trying not to be seen. She had no doubt that her father would send Patron-Minette to look for her, and that they would stop at nothing until she was back there. He promised, and kept it vigorously – he was even more guarded in public than he normally was, and made sure he didn’t breathe a word of her to anyone.

 

But one day, Éponine forgot her own words.

It was a normal Friday afternoon – she was going home from the grocery store after getting extra things to take to Gav and his friends next week. She was lost in thought as she walked, and forgot to check the alleys for dark men with eyes trained on her.

She failed to see those eyes of her childhood sweetheart as they followed her slim body up the stairs and in the front door as she called out, “Enjolras, I’m home!”

Smirking, Mattheiu-François Montparnasse retreated into the alley, pulling out his cell phone. Thénardier would never be able to repay him for this information – he had finally hunted down the girl he used to love, and now she was going to pay.

He put the phone up to his ear as it rang. “’Ello?” the gruff voice of his boss answered.

“I’ve got her.”

 

Éponine was alone the next night.

Enjolras had left town with the rest of the _Amis_ for a rally in a town further south, and she stayed behind at the flat. At first, she was a little skittish about being alone, but Enjolras assured her that he would only be gone for a day or two at most.

As she was getting ready for bed, she felt a knife up to her throat.

“Not a word from you, little slut,” her father’s voice hissed in her ear, and she quivered with fear. “You may have slipped away from me for a little while, but you’re coming back to the bar with me tonight, or I’ll kill your little boyfriend as soon as he gets home. Understand?”

She tried to wet her lips to speak as she gasped for breath. “Papa, please don’t – ”

The knife was instantly further into her throat. “Do you really want to fight with me, you little chit?” he hissed. “You’ll do as I say, or Lover Boy will be coming home to your slit throat!”

Éponine bit her lip. _I’m so sorry, Enjolras._ “Alright. I’ll go with you. Just give me a moment to pack my things.”

Thénardier grinned, taking the knife away from her throat. “That’s a good girl. I knew you’d come around. Be quick,” he said, leaping out the window and going back down the alley. As soon as he was gone, she burst into tears. _I’m so sorry, Enjolras…so sorry…but I can’t let you die._

So she packed up her things, and left with her father.

 

Enjolras was frantic when he arrived home the two nights later.

“Éponine? I’m home,” he called as he opened the front door of his flat, dropping his keys into the bowl. It was incredibly late – around 1:30 in the morning – but usually Éponine was up with him into the wee hours. His only reply was eerie silence where there should have been footsteps, or an answering voice.

Nothing.

“Éponine?” he called again, a little unsurely as he walked in, shutting the door behind him. “Ép, if you’re home, answer me…”

Still nothing.

 _Perhaps she went to bed early?_ He tiptoed back to her bedroom and knocked softly on the door. “Éponine?” he crooned softly, as he would to a child, opening the door slowly. “Ép, are you – ?”

She was gone without a single trace. Her room was stripped bare, completely empty. It was like she had never moved in.

Panic overtook him before reason could attempt to calm him. He whipped out his phone and speed-dialed the Guide with shaking hands. _No. This can’t be happening. No, she’s not gone. She can’t be gone…_

“Ugh…Enjolras?” the Guide answered his phone groggily. “Do you realize what time – ?”

“Éponine’s gone, ‘Ferre” the Leader said frantically, the real fear setting in as he spoke. “She just vanished from my apartment like she’d never even been here. I don’t know where she would have gone or what could be happening to her right now…oh, God, she could be – ”

“Calm down, Enjolras,” Combeferre answered gently, though now much more awake. “I’m getting out of bed right now. Do you want my help looking for her?”

Enjolras nodded, before realizing that ‘Ferre couldn’t see him. “Yes.”

“Alright; I’ll be right there,” his friend answered. “See you in a bit.”

Enjolras hung up and anxiously paced the hall as he awaited Combeferre’s arrival for what seemed like an eternity. Rain started to fall as he let his thoughts wander – _Has her father somehow found out about us? She did say Patron-Minette would be looking for her…has he kidnapped her? Did she fight? Heaven forbid…did she go willingly?_ All sorts of questions ran through his mind with no answers in sight.

Finally, the sound of tires crunching over gravel as ‘Ferre’s engine turned off jerked him out of his dark thoughts. He grabbed his coat and keys, racing out the front door to meet his best friend. “Where did you last see her?” he asked as he got out of the car, talking loudly through the rain.

Enjolras pointed straight down to the small panel of wood at the bottom of the doorway. “On this threshold, right before I left for the rally,” he replied. “She saw me off.”

‘Ferre’s brow started to knit in concentration. “Did you hear from her at all while we were gone?”

Enjolras shook his head and swallowed hard. “Nothing.”

“Hmm…” his friend drummed his fingers together as he, too, began pacing, though less frantically than Enjolras. The Leader sensed something was weighing on the Guide that he would not express as he retraced his steps, back and forth, over and over.

“Any idea where she could have gone?”

“None.”

The Guide’s thoughtful frown deepened. “We’d better start looking. Change into your least upper-class clothing, get your least conspicuous car, and go over to the Patron-Minette side of town to look for her. I’ll go to the other side of town; text or call me if you find her before I do. No matter what happens, keep calm. I hate to say it, but she’ll probably be in pretty bad shape when we find her. You’ve _got_ to stay calm, no matter what happens. She’ll need you to be steady, for her.” He nodded, hardly taking in the man’s words as he hurried back to change. “By the way,” Combeferre added as he was leaving, _“bon chance.”_

Enjolras granted him a single nod. _“Bon chance, mon ami.”_

 

Combeferre was truly worried about Éponine.

He’d fallen hopelessly in love with her the first time Pontmercy had brought her to the ABC. She had granted him one shy smile, but that was all it took for the medical student’s heart to be lost. Now, when he wasn’t reading the philosophy of politics, he was reading the philosophy of love, trying to figure out how on earth he could have fallen so frighteningly quickly. At night, he went to sleep alone, but dreamed of her small smile, what her laugh might sound like – some rare nights he even dreamed of marrying her, raising a family with her.

Now, she had disappeared from Enjolras’ house, to God knew where, and he might never see her again. He’d kept calm when formulating a plan with Enjolras, but inside, his heart was pounding and he didn’t know if he could stay in control of the car long enough to get to the other side of town. He drove too fast, saying a small prayer that she would be found, alive and well, even in this pouring rain.

_Please, Lord…let one of us find her._

 

The rain started to pick up as Enjolras hurried out to his old Chevy, wearing a ratty black t-shirt, jeans, and old tennis shoes, and drove out of the parking garage. Even with his wipers going full speed, he was barely able to see through the sheeting rain as he drove to the side of town controlled by Thénardier’s street gang, known as Patron-Minette.

He parked, fed a meter, and started walking as soon as he could. He kept his eyes down as much as he could, trying not to be seen – he was already famous among the poor as a revolutionary figure, and he couldn’t risk being recognized by anyone. Looking up when he dared, Enjolras shook water out of his eyes and hair, skimming the area immediately around her for any sign of Éponine, before looking back down. Thankfully, Patron-Minette themselves didn’t seem to be anywhere around.

 _Éponine…Éponine…_ he called out with his mind, half-hoping the telepathic summons would work. _Please…come back to me._

Enjolras only had to walk for a little over five minutes before he could hear her singing. He’d know her voice anywhere.

 

_I love him,_

_But when the night is over_

_He is gone,_

_The river’s just a river._

Slowly, he started to approach her as her voice crescendoed over the pouring rain, sending a single text to Combeferre: _“Found her.”_

_Without him,_

_The world around me changes,_

_The trees are bare, and everywhere_

_The streets are full of strangers…_

_I love him,_

_But every day I’m learning_

_All my life,_

_I’ve only been pretending!_

He dared to move still closer as her heartbreaking song reached its final climax.

_Without me,_

_His world will go on turning_

_A world that’s full of happiness_

_That I have never known!_

She stopped suddenly, her face buried in her knees, and even over the rain, he could hear the one sound he never wanted to hear, the one sound that broke his heart more than anything – she was sobbing. The sound of her broken heart made him feel so powerless, and he hated feeling that he could do nothing for her.

 

_I love him…_

_I love him…_

_I love him…_

_But only on my own…_

He squatted beside her, not unlike how he had under the bridge, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Éponine,” he said softly.

She looked up from her lap, but not at him, wiping tears and rain away from her face. “What do you want from me, Enjolras?” she half-spat. “I can’t live on your charity anymore. Papa knows; Patron-Minette found us. We weren’t careful enough before, and now I have to go back.”

“No,” Enjolras said firmly, turning her face to look at him. “I won’t have your ruin on my conscience when I know I can do something to prevent it. Not now, or ever.”

“How do you think you can prevent it?” she demanded, pulling away from him. “I was already nothing more than a street whore when we met. My ruin was, and still is, imminent. There’s nothing you or anyone else can do. You’re not Superman, for God’s sake.”

He looked away from her, seeming defeated. “I refuse to believe that I can do nothing for you,” he said quietly, barely audible over the next loud clap of thunder. She didn’t answer for a moment, but when she did, her tone was angry, almost hateful.

“You’ve always been too stubborn for your own good, Damien.”

Enjolras cringed at her use of his loathed Christian name. “I like to think I’m stubborn enough for _your_ good, Éponine.”

“Dammit, man; you can’t always fix everything!” she yelled, standing up. “Sometimes that’s just life.”

He stood up, too, glaring at her through the rain. “I have to try and make it better,” he countered. “Even if it falls down around me, it is my duty and my purpose to bear the sky upon my shoulders.”

She snorted. “Quit the poetic bullshit, Damien. Just accept that you’re human too, and let me go.”

“I may be only human, but I hold on to the hope that I can make the world better. That I can make _your_ world better, Éponine. Else…what is the point?” Enjolras said softly.

“If you keep trying to hold the weight of the world on your shoulders, eventually you’re going to be crushed,” she said, pushing her wet hair out of her face. “Let me go. I’m only one more burden on your back.”

He sighed. “I bear the world on my shoulders. I am happy to have the weight of one more person. Especially if that person makes my world a brighter place like my friends do. I count you among those I am happy to carry, Ép.”

 _So he doesn’t love me. He could never love me. I have no choice but to go back._ She turned around with every intent of walking away, but he kept going.

“Damn it, Éponine, you can’t keep wallowing in this self-pity! If you don’t try to make it better, what’s the point of you even existing?” he shouted over the rain. She whipped around, infuriated, but didn’t speak for a moment. Then, in the softest voice he’d ever heard her use, she whispered one question.

“Why do you give a damn?”

“Because I care about you. When I’m around you…my burden feels a little lighter,” he replied just as softly, his eyes begging her to hear his words, to take them to heart.

“Why me?” she whispered. “Why the commoner, the whore who’s no better than the dirt under your shoes?”

“I don’t have the answer to that,” he said. “All I know is that I intend to keep you in my life. Even if I have to let the sky fall elsewhere to keep it above your head. Just come home, Ép. Please…come home.”

She looked at him, biting her lip. “I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?” he begged softly.

She looked away again, trying not to cry. “I just…I can’t…dammit, Damien, let me go. Just let me go!”

“I can’t do that,” he persisted. “I can’t let you put yourself back into that situation knowing that you’re suffering for it.”

“You don’t have to let me. I can do it on my own,” she retorted. “I don’t need your permission to make my choice.”

He looked away momentarily. “I can’t stop you from making your choice, but I can – and I _will_ – shield you from your choice should you make the unintelligent one.”

“You don’t trust me?” she said, mock surprise crossing her face. “What a shock, for our _homme de marbre.”_

“Your actions in leaving didn’t exactly inspire trust,” he snapped.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?”

“That you ran off without any warning at all? That you didn’t even give me a chance to fix this? Yes, I’d say it is!” he yelled. A loud clap of thunder followed his statement, as if in agreement.

“Of course!” she yelled, throwing her hands up in exasperation and turning away. “Always, blame the little street rat who had to submit to her father’s abusive whims her whole life and knows to look out for herself!”

“And subsequently refuses to trust the man who did everything in his power to save her?”

“May I remind you that you were the one to tell me that suspicion is…how did you say it? ‘In my blood?’” she answered icily. “You should be flattered that I even accepted your charity in the first place, Damien.”

“Maybe I gave you too much credit, Éponine,” he said coldly. “I suppose I assumed too much in thinking that you would move past your suspicion in the face of kindness.”

She stepped back, clearly shocked and hurt. “You always thought too highly of me,” she whispered. “Just as I did of you.”

Then she turned and ran.

Enjolras was too angry and upset to run after her. Instead, his entire upbringing momentarily left him, and he repeatedly slammed his fists against the brick wall behind him, screaming obscenities for several minutes. His tears of frustration mixed with the rain pouring down his face, and soon, he slid down the wall and pulled his legs close, resting his forehead on his knees, nursing his bleeding hands and sobbing.

It took him nearly a quarter of an hour to regain some composure and remember the Guide. When he checked his phone, Combeferre had answered his earlier message about 20 minutes ago – _“Meet me at the Café.”_ The Leader trudged over to his car, slammed the door when he got in, and drove through the dumping rain to the Musain, where Combeferre was already awaiting him, looking incredibly worried.

“Enjolras! _Grâce à Dieu!”_ he exclaimed. “What happened? Where’s Époni – are you _bleeding?”_

The Leader waved off the Guide’s worry and questions with one bleeding hand. “We argued, she ran, and I…got angry,” he said wearily. “We both said a lot of things…flat-out hateful things…she called me by my Christian name, too…” he muttered, a little anger seeping into his tone at the last offense. He looked down at his hands and sighed. “Probably shouldn’t have reacted like that…”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” the medical student chastised him. “Here, at least let me wrap them up and drive you home.”

“You can wrap them, but I’ll drive myself,” Enjolras answered in the tone he used when he didn’t want an argument. Combeferre reluctantly sighed and nodded.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get these cleaned up.”

 

In about 10 minutes, Combeferre had carefully wrapped Enjolras’ hands, and he was on his way home, alone. He pulled into the parking garage around 4:00 in the morning and slowly trudged back up to his apartment, like a defeated soldier home from a lost war. Mechanically, he unlocked the door, put his keys in the bowl, took a hot shower, and climbed into bed, wishing more than ever that she were there next to him.

_You promised, Éponine…you promised._


	6. Chapter Five

_Five  
When he offers his lips, take them._   
_Take his arms, take his throat, take his toes when he offers._   
_Gorge. Swallow everything whole._   
_Gag. Vomit. Swallow more._   
_Do not hesitate. No time for polite, or coy. Take._

 

Enjolras sat at the table, once again the last one in the Café Musain. The owner trusted him with his life, and it wasn’t the first time he was left alone to lock up. So he sat at his usual table in the corner, headphones still in despite the fact that he was alone, open philosophy books scattered around him, rapidly typing out a new speech for the upcoming rally on his laptop. It was peaceful, despite the loneliness, and got his mind off the argument he’d had with Ép last week. He always enjoyed heated disagreement or debate of any kind – after all, he was going to be a politician when he got out of school; it would seem that debate was in his blood – but arguing with her had been much more than that, and it had bothered him.

Then she came back.

Enjolras looked up at the fierce knock on the door, pausing the album of Mozart he was listening to and opened the door to reveal Éponine, who was looking the angriest he’d ever seen her – even more than that night in the rain. He sighed deeply; he hadn’t been looking forward to her return.

“Yes?” he asked tightly, reluctantly ushering her in and shutting the locked door behind her.

“What the hell was that all about?” she snapped.

“I don’t know what you mean, _Mademoiselle,”_ he answered as boredly as he could. He really just wished she’d go away. He was on a roll with that speech, and he needed to get it done before the rally…but God, she looked so beautiful in that sundress…her slim, muscular calves exposed, her beautiful dancer’s feet bare…

_Oh for God’s sake, Damien, get a grip!_

She cringed at his address. “I’ve told you, don’t call me that.”

“I don’t understand it, Ép,” he snapped, finally losing it. “Why do you constantly refuse to respect yourself as a human being?”

“It’s the way I was raised, alright? You think you know everything about life on the streets, but trust me, you don’t. I’ve lived it; you’re just the rich boy know-it-all who wants to make things better.”

That infuriated him. _How dare she?_ “And _you_ think you know everything about politics and revolution – _you don’t,_ Éponine. This is far more complicated than you think.”

“Well, _you’re_ not as complicated as _you_ think, you Marble Man,” Éponine retorted. “You think you’re invincible, impenetrable, that no one can touch you – well guess what? You’re not!”

Enjolras glared at her, both amazed at her audacity and furious with her accusations. He had always thought that no woman would be able to get the better of him in an argument. But dammit, this one had, and he couldn’t figure out how. All he could do was stare in his mixed emotions.

“You’re smarter than you think, Ép,” he murmured.

“Oh, please,” she grumbled, looking away from him. “Spare me your empty flattery.”

“That’s not what it is,” he answered quietly, looking away.

“Then what the hell is it?” she snapped.

There it was again – that fire he had seen in her eyes that made him fall in love with her in the first place. “I couldn’t tell you,” he answered in little more than a whisper, a ghost of his normal tone.

Ép was genuinely concerned at this point. This was _not_ the strong, fiery, passionate Enjolras she knew and held so dear to her heart – this was a saddened, broken man, completely unlike the one she had just been arguing with. She quickly crossed the room to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Enjolras?” she asked, her worry evident in her voice. “Are you well?”

“On the contrary,” he answered, his voice heavy as he put a hand to his forehead. “I’m in love.”

Her eyebrows shot practically into her hairline at his last three words. “Do I need to go get Joly?” she asked, already heading for the door, and rather urgently.

“No, Éponine…” he said promptly, reaching for her arm and gently grabbing it. “Please…don’t go.”

She looked into his eyes as he said her name, begged her not to go, and realized the truth.

She, Éponine Thénardier, had done the impossible.

She had cracked the Marble Man’s heart.

“Not just flesh and stone after all, are you Enj?” She murmured softly, putting a hand to his chest – directly over his heart – as she spoke. Her touch set his body on fire.

Before he could answer, she had gently pressed her lips to his.

At first, he was petrified.

_What – WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?! WHAT IS THIS SORCERY, WOMAN?!_

_Calm down. Kiss her back._

Gradually, as his eyes closed, he found his lips moving with hers. Her small mouth was sweet, firmly pressing against his without being too much. Feeling adventurous, he carefully slipped his tongue between her lips when they parted as she took a breath. She gasped quietly against him before doing the same when he went to breathe. Instinctively, he gasped, too. Her tongue was small and sweet as it slipped inside his mouth and along his tongue. As he pulled her closer, he let his tongue gently slide along hers, savoring her taste in his mouth.

He noticed that his mind was slowly shutting down and making way for his body to take over, but he didn’t care. For once, the change coming over him was good. Her arms were wrapping around his body, her hands exploring his chest and back just as his wrapped around her tiny waist. She fit perfectly against him, and he didn’t want the kiss to ever end. For him, all that existed in that moment was her. “Éponine…” he sighed. His voice was suddenly different – lower, wanting, almost desperate. She echoed his quiet sounds of wanting, murmuring his name in the same way.

Then his brain came back on.

 _What the hell are you doing, Damien?! You have a revolution to lead! What happened to_ Patria _? You can’t fall in love now! You CAN’T!_

He pulled away, intending to stop her. In his mind, he was saying, _“Éponine, we shouldn’t…”_

But what came out was completely different.

“There’s an apartment upstairs…no one ever uses it.”

_WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!_

Her eyebrows went up again. “Enjolras…are you sure?” she asked.

Again, his brain and his body defied each other.

_NO! WE CAN’T DO THIS, ÉP!_

Yet he found his head nodding, his body seemingly acting of its own accord. “I’m sure, Éponine.” She approached him slowly, and he extended a hand, as if to reassure her – or tempt her further; he wasn’t quite sure of his own motives. “Come with me, Éponine,” he found himself whispering. _“Mon rêve c'était d'être le tien…”_

A moment of pause, both of them staring into the other’s eyes.

Then she took his hand.

 

The upstairs apartment he had described was relatively bare, but very neat and clearly well-kept. The carefully made bed rested against the left wall, and there were cabinets and wardrobes lining the other two walls, some on the third. A small table with two chairs even sat in the back. _Typical of a café,_ Éponine thought.

He shut the door behind them as she stepped in. As he looked into her eyes, Enjolras didn’t know what do but take two steps toward her. She did the same, promptly pulling him in for another kiss, this one even more passionate than the last. He groaned quietly, and pulled her in as close as he could. Kissing her felt so... _right_ , so good. So good that he could hardly believe any of it was really happening – her lips pressing so fervently against his, her hands tangled so tightly into his hair, his arms curled so protectively around her tiny waist. She pulled back to kiss down his neck, her soft supple lips evoking small moans.

He felt the primal urge growing, manifesting itself in his groin, and his whole body stiffened slightly. His hands started roaming her body, feeling every small hill and vale. They rested on her sides as he kissed down her neck, and she moaned quietly, guiding his hands back to the lace-up back of her dress.

Enjolras promptly pulled back, a little surprised in spite of himself. “Éponine…are you sure, too?” he asked in a heavy whisper, stroking her hair back from her face.

She opened her eyes long enough to place her forehead against his, her hands resting gently along his strong jaw. “Enjolras…no other man has kissed me like that,” she answered breathlessly. “I want to know what it’s like to be _loved_ and _wanted,_ not just a pretty face in the back room for a few francs.” Her eyes slowly closed again, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Show me…”

He seized her and kissed her again in an instant, with more passion than before, as they slowly fell to the bed. As she rolled on top of him, his hands reached around to her back to untie the laces of her dress, until it slid down her legs and quietly hit the floor. His t-shirt promptly followed, until Éponine’s hands traveled down to his boots. He looked down, and her face gave him pause.

Slowly, the right boot came off. She gently cradled his foot in her small, delicate hands, placing a single kiss on the arch. He gasped softly at the unexpected sensation, before she did it again on the other side, and he shakily exhaled. She took the tip of each toe in her mouth, kissing them and flicking her tongue on the nail, which made him groan softly. She did the same on the left foot, before he switched their positions.

Just as she had, he cradled her right foot in his big hands, admiring the high arches that made her such a beautiful dancer. He kissed each side of it, took her tiny toes in his mouth, and did the same on the left before coming back up to kiss her again. Their heavy breathing mingled as her hands tangled into his hair, ran over his bare shoulders, back, arms, and chest, as if she, too, were memorizing the placement of every muscle in his torso. No woman’s touch had set Enjolras on fire the way hers had; he found his breath getting shakier and shakier the more he looked at Éponine’s body underneath his.

As they kept kissing, his arms reached around her to unfasten the small clasps at her back. Her arms slid nimbly out of the bra, and he tossed it to the floor. His eyes looked over her bare top half, not predatorily, but more out of curiosity. Slowly, he reached out with one hand, and looked up at her. All she had to do was nod, and his hands cupped her breasts gently. They were not, by any means, the largest he’d held, but to him, they might as well have been perfect – they were part of her.

His head bent to capture her mouth again as his big, warm, heavy hands gently massaged her breasts. His ministrations evoked a quiet moan from her, and she pressed his hands into them in encouragement. He worked them harder in response, kneading and pinching the nipples, and all the while, listening to the gasps, whimpers and moans between kisses that came at his touch. His lips left hers to trail down her neck and chest, stopping at her breasts to suck on her hardening nipples. The gasps and moans slowly grew louder as his tongue swirled around them, occasionally grazing his teeth along them.

When he finished at her breasts, he slowly crawled back up the bed to kiss her again. Éponine sighed softly as Enjolras’ hands ran through her hair, down her bare back, and pulled her body close to his. For her, it was bliss to be in his arms, kissing him and receiving his love.

She trailed her fingers down his chest, over his stomach, and down to the top of his jeans. Her hands resting on the button, she looked up at him, and he nodded, kissing her forehead. “Whenever you’re ready, _mon chèrie,”_ he murmured to her. Slowly, Éponine unfastened the button and pulled down the zipper. Her hands slowly tickled his naked hips, thighs, and in between, where 8 inches stood erect and waiting.

Enjolras gasped quietly as the last of his clothing fell to the floor, and he felt his naked body fully exposed, hovering over her. He looked down, one hand resting on her hip, and looked up for permission to pull off her panties. Again, she nodded.

“Whenever you’re ready, _mon chère.”_

Hours later, they were both finished.

With a slight shudder, Enjolras finally relaxed on top of Éponine, their hands intertwined as their chests heaved together. Her head was still rolled back, her eyes closed in the last remnants of bliss filling her body. He couldn’t help but watch her, trying to memorize the look on her face as she finally came down.

“Did I show you?” he whispered, stroking her hair back from her face.

“Hmm?” she murmured, looking at him without moving.

“You asked me to show you what it was like to be loved…did I do that?” he murmured, his hand resting on her slightly sweaty cheek as he looked into her eyes.

She gave him a tired smile. “More, Enjolras,” she whispered into his ear. “So much more…”

He pulled her around for another kiss, this one slower and sweeter than any they’d shared thus far. “Éponine, my darling…” he breathed. “Can you keep a secret? I do believe that I may be a little in love with you.”

The woman underneath him smiled more broadly now, kissing him once again. “Can _you_ keep a secret, my Enjolras? I do believe that I, too, am a little in love with you.” He chuckled, playing with a few strands of her hair as he admired her.

He never saw this coming – falling in love, being with her at all; much less having her in his bed. But somehow, it had, and he wouldn’t take back any of it. Enjolras could tell his own eyes were growing hazy as he looked at her – the only woman with whom he’d ever truly fallen in love. Wordlessly, he pulled her closer, kissing her cheek as they fell asleep together.


	7. Chapter Six

_Six  
When the minions call you whore,_  
_nod._

 

Éponine woke up the next morning in a haze, still breathing deeply. She turned over and saw Enjolras still sleeping next to her, his eyes closed, and one of his big hands covering hers on the pillow. Smiling to herself, she carefully shifted onto one side to look at him – his face peaceful and calm, his breathing slow and deep with sleep. She watched him for a little while, tucking a curl of golden-blonde hair behind his ear. Even in all the time they’d spent together, she’d never seen that look on his face – it was the utmost peace she could imagine on a face; she wondered for a moment if he were still dreaming of her.

“Good morning, my darling,” she whispered in his ear, a ghost of a smile making its way across her face.

His breathing, too, suddenly deepened as his eyes lazily opened. “Ah, good morning,” he answered, grinning with the same laziness and brushing a few strands of her hair back from her face. She smiled at the small, sweet touch, and he leaned in to kiss her. “Sleep well?” he murmured gently, resting his forehead on hers.

“Quite,” she smiled, one hand running down his muscular arm. “It was comforting to have you here. Yourself?”

“The same,” he said with a smile. “It was nice to feel you there on the other side of the bed all night.”

She smiled back, her eyes closing as her fingers stroked his bare arm. However, their peace was soon interrupted by Éponine’s phone buzzing several times on the bedside table. “Dammit…” she sighed, rolling over in the bed to pick it up.

Enjolras shifted with her, putting an arm around her waist. “What is it?” he murmured, kissing her temple.

Éponine frowned. She had a text from Muschietta – _“I don’t know where you are, but I need you right now! ‘Ferre’s missing, and no one can find him! Get to my house as soon as you can! –M”_

“It’s Muschietta,” she answered, getting out of bed and quickly pulling her clothes back on. “She says ‘Ferre’s missing, and no one can find him. I need to get to her house.”

Enjolras looked shocked. “Our Combeferre?” he asked incredulously.

“How many other Combeferres do we know? Anyway, it appears I’ve really got to go,” she said as she quickly answered ‘Chetta – _“On my way now. Give me 15.”_

He stood up from the bed and pulled her close again. “Be careful going over there,” he murmured in her ear. “Patron-Minette is spreading to her neighborhood, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

His sweetheart smiled and kissed him once. “Trust me, I know how not to be seen,” she grinned. “I’ll see you soon, love.” With that, she hurried down the stairs and out the front door of the Café.

She hadn’t made it 10 feet when she felt a knife to her throat, and a familiar voice in her ear.

“Hello, sweetie,” her childhood love whispered in her ear, and her breath caught in her chest.

“Montparnasse?” she whispered.

The man chuckled. “That’s right, ‘Ponine,” he said. “It’s me. Now, come with me for a minute, and no one has to get hurt. Your father just wants to ask you a few questions.”

She hesitated. “What does he want to know?”

‘Parnasse shrugged. “He wouldn’t tell me. He only wants to talk to you. Now,” he murmured, pressing the knife ever so slightly harder against her skin, “are you coming with me or not?”

Éponine hesitated for another minute, then nodded. “Alright.”

Montparnasse smiled, the same charming smile that had captured her little-girl heart, and lowered the knife. “That’s my ‘Ponine,” he grinned. “This way.”

She followed him down an alley, and several small twists and turns later, they were at the front of a small hovel. She could hear activity and voices behind the large piece of burlap sack that covered the front entrance, and recognized the two men guarding the entrance – Brujon and Babet, two of her father’s henchmen that had always been good to her during her childhood.

“Well, well, well,” Brujon grinned, his voice just as deep and gravelly as Éponine remembered. “If it isn’t our little ‘Ponine, all grown up.”

She chuckled, smiling shyly. “Good to see you, Brujon, Babet,” she smiled. Babet gave her his typical, thin-lipped smile, nodding politely. He’d had his tongue cut out as a young man, but Ép had always been able to read his emotions in his face, and she could tell he was happy to see her, too.

“Éponine!” her father’s familiar – and angry – voice shouted from behind the entrance.

She sighed, casting one more look at ‘Parnasse. “Wish me luck,” she mouthed, before pulling back the flap. “Yes, Papa?”

A bit to her surprise, he smiled at her. “Come in, _chèrie,”_ he said a little too sweetly, gesturing for her to sit beside him. Tentatively she did so, the big piece of burlap falling with a soft _whoosh_ behind her. She smiled a little at him, before the sharp sting of a hard slap overcame her. “What the HELL do you think you’re doing, trying to run away from me?!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

She recoiled instantly, her arms going up to cover her face. “Papa, please!” she cried. “I love him!”

_GODDAMMIT, ÉPONINE! How could you let that slip?! Now he’s going to die, and it’ll be your fault!_

Even with her eyes squeezed shut, she felt the atmosphere change. She heard the cloth of his shirt rustle as his arm lowered, and she relaxed, knowing another strike was averted. “Oh?” her father whispered in a deathly quiet voice. “And who is he?” When she hesitated, he called out, “Boys, come in here. I think you might take interest in what my little _galopin_ is about to tell us.”

She looked up enough to see the rest of the present Patron-Minette members – ‘Parnasse, Brujon, and Babet – climb into the tiny room and seat themselves, completing a tiny circle. “Now, ‘Ponine,” her father said calmly. “You were about to say something?”

Éponine swallowed hard, shaking her head. “N-no, Papa. It was nothing.”

He suddenly smacked her again, and harder. _“Connerie!”_ he shouted, making her curl up in fear again. “You’re hiding something from me, bitch, and I’m going to find out what it is!”

“Alright!” she cried, breathing hard, and everything else in the tiny room stopped. _I’m so sorry, Enjolras. So sorry…_ “It’s the revolutionary.”

“The pretty boy political student?” Montparnasse asked in surprise. “I didn’t think he was your type, ‘Ponine.”

“I’m not a child anymore, ‘Parnasse,” she answered softly. “I’m a grown woman. I’ve changed.”

Thénardier snorted. “Grown woman, my ass. I’m your father; I’ll decide when you can be considered a ‘grown woman!’” he snapped.

“It’s too late for that, Papa,” she said angrily, standing up without even thinking. “I chose to be a grown woman when I met Enjolras. When I…fell in love with him.”

Montparnasse gaped at her in utter disbelief. “You don’t mean…?”

She only nodded.

It took Thénardier a minute to realize the meaning of her words, but when he did, he was furious. “You little whore!” he screamed, slapping her again – this time so hard that she fell to the ground. “Who do you think you are to give your body away without my permission, eh? WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”

She barely suppressed a scream of pain as she fell on the dirt floor. “I’m my own woman now, Papa!” she cried.

A hard kick in the ribcage followed. “You’re NOTHING!” he yelled. “Nothing but a street whore with dreams too far over her head! I bet your little revolutionary boy doesn’t even love you!”

Éponine let out a quiet chuckle. “Oh, Papa,” she whispered. “I can’t tell you how wrong you are. I wish I could show you the way he loves me, and not just in bed. He’s…perfect.”

Montparnasse snorted from his seat in the corner. “Can you hear yourself, ‘Ponine?” he said derisively. “You sound like a deluded child. It’s time you grew up.”

“I did, ‘Parnasse,” she said tightly. “Long before you did.”

He stood up, glaring at her. “You’re _mine,_ you bitch!” he snapped, stabbing a finger at her in a manner that mimicked her father with frightening accuracy. “You’ve always been mine, and you always will be! You have no choice!”

Éponine stood up, too. “Why do you care what I do with my life, Montparnasse? We were children when we had any interest in each other. What relevance does that have now?”

“You loved me first!” he shouted, sounding like a stubborn two-year-old. “I was first! You belong to me!”

“I belong to no one but myself,” she whispered, promptly leaving the hovel without a backward glance.

 

She arrived at Muschietta’s house a few minutes later, knocking hard on the front door. “’Chetta, it’s me!” she called.

Her best friend opened the door, looking incredibly worried. “Ép!” she cried, embracing her. “Good God, I’m so glad you’re here! Are you alright? What took you so long?”

“I was…delayed,” she said icily as ‘Chetta closed the door.

“Éponine!” a familiar voice called from the couch. Before she had fully turned around, she was in Enjolras’ tight embrace. “Thank God! I didn’t know what had happened to you.”

She smiled to herself, hugging him back tightly. “I’m fine, love. No need to worry,” she murmured into his chest. “Alright, what’s the situation with ‘Ferre?” she posed to the rest of the room, pulling away from Enjolras.

“I woke up at 3:00 this morning to a text from him that said he was leaving town for a while, but not to be worried,” Joly piped up first. “But when I pressed him for details, he refused to give any, saying he couldn’t put the _Amis_ in danger.”

Éponine frowned. “Has anyone else heard from him since then?”

“He texted me about an hour ago to say that he definitely wouldn’t be back any time soon, and not to watch out for his return,” Muschietta said. “That’s why I gathered everyone here. Since that message, he’s not answering the phone, Facebook…anything. Not from any of us.”

Her frown grew deeper. “This is bad news, for sure. Can anyone think of somewhere he might have gone? Did he go home?” Combeferre was the only one of the _Amis_ who wasn’t Parisian by birth. “Where is home, anyway?” she mused aloud.

“Bordeaux, I think,” Marius said. “But I’m not sure.”

“I think that’s right, actually,” Prouvaire chipped in from the other side of the room.

Courfeyrac nodded. “Yes; I remember he would tell me stories about his childhood in Bordeaux.”

Éponine nodded. “Enjolras? Your thoughts?”

Her lover took a moment to consider. “I think a select few of us that are particularly close to him should go to Bordeaux and figure out what he’s up to. He said he didn’t want to risk putting us in danger, but I can’t sit back knowing his life might be at stake as well.”

She nodded. “Excellent plan. I think that you, Marius, Courf and Grant should go.”

The four men nodded. “Gentlemen, if you are all ready, we can leave immediately the Leader said.

The Center nodded. “Whenever you’re ready.”


	8. Chapter Seven

_Seven  
He will tell you of the others._   
_How they went crazy in their sleep awaiting his return._   
_Do not flinch. Do not doubt your thickened fingertips._   
_Stand upright. You promised._

By the time he reached the Guide, he was almost too late.

The four men left Muschietta’s house immediately after deciding to chase him down, and reached Bordeaux several hours later. Miraculously, Grantaire managed to stay out of every bar in town, and hence, sober enough to take part in the frantic search to find Combeferre.

However, it was Enjolras who found him, about to jump off the Pont de Pierre.

He only got a brief glimpse of the man’s profile, but he knew that sandy hair and thin face anywhere. He was on top of the rail, arms spread and looking down. Even from several feet away, Enjolras could see that he was shaking, tears running down his face.

“COMBEFERRE!” he screamed, sprinting towards his friend.

“Get back!” the Guide yelled. “Don’t come any closer, or I’ll jump!”

The Leader skidded to a halt, now only about three feet from him. “Combeferre…you don’t have to do this, _ami,”_ he said gently. “You have so much to live for…” He pulled out his phone long enough to text Marius, Courfeyrac and Grantaire – _“Found him. We’re on the Pont de Pierre.”_

He looked away as he hopped back onto the bridge, clearly holding back more sobs. “Not without her…” he whispered.

Enjolras frowned. “Without who, ‘Ferre?” he murmured.

The Guide looked up to meet the Leader’s gaze, his face more mournful than he’d ever seen. “Do you not know?”

The revolutionary frowned; he couldn’t understand why his friend was beating around the bush. “’Ferre…”

He looked away and whispered the one name Enjolras hadn’t expected – or wanted – to hear.

“Éponine.”

He gaped at his friend in utter shock. “Éponine?” he couldn’t believe his ears. _No. Not her. Not her…he can’t be in love with her._

His heart sank to his stomach when the Guide nodded. “Yes, Éponine. I love her. I love her without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love her straightforwardly, without complexities or pride. I love her because I know no other way.”

“Pablo Neruda, sonnet seventeen,” Enjolras murmured. “You really have been reading the philosophy of love.”

Combeferre nodded, making eye contact with him again. “I can’t live without her, Enjolras…I can’t go on.”

He sighed, trying to think of something else to say, but thankfully, the sound of urgent, pounding footsteps interrupted him. The two men turned to the forms of Marius, Grantaire and Courfeyrac running towards them.

“Combeferre!” the Center called out joyfully. _“Grâce à Dieu!”_

“Are you alright, man?” Grantaire asked.

“We didn’t know where you’d gone!” Marius panted.

“I’m fine; don’t worry,” the Guide reassured them, a thin smile crossing his face.

Behind that thin, grim expression, Enjolras could see just how broken he truly was, and had chosen not to reveal. This was a man who kept putting one foot in front of the other each morning from nothing more than hope – a hope that Enjolras had unwittingly stolen out from under his nose, that someday, Éponine would be his.

The Leader suddenly wanted to vomit.

 

As soon as they got back to Paris, Enjolras went straight to the Café Musain to get drunk.

No matter how he tried to distract himself, he kept replaying the evening’s scene over and over in his mind – Combeferre standing on the edge of the Pont de Pierre, his confession that he loved Éponine (he quoted Neruda, for Christ’s sake!) – and most haunting of all, the thin smile for the others that Enjolras knew so well was only a façade. He lost track of the beers after five or six, but he couldn’t stop drinking…one minute it was just that night, and then everything else suddenly came crashing down…he drank faster and faster, spiraling further and further out of control…

“You too, huh?” a familiar voice said to his left.

The Leader turned around, blinking and squinting, before Éponine came into shape in his field of vision, ordering a beer, and he felt sicker than he had all night. He opened his mouth, trying to think of something to say, but she laughed. “You don’t have to say anything; I can tell you’ve had plenty to drink already.”

“Damn right…” he slurred.

She raised an eyebrow as he spoke. “How many have you had?”

Enjolras paused, his brow furrowing in drunken concentration, as he tried to count on his fingers. “Ten…maybe eleven?”

Her raised eyebrows went higher. “Don’t you think you should slow down a little, love?”

He objected immediately, violently shaking his head. “C-can’t…”

Ép bit her lower lip, trying to figure out how to approach the situation. “Enjolras, sweetheart…what’s doing this to you? You don’t drink, much less to excess. Something provoked this. I can tell.”

“I’ll tell you what provoked this,” he half-shouted, waving his finger at her in the classic inebriated mannerism. “I constantly worry that I’m not enough for my parents, even though I’m the top of my class, Combeferre tried to commit suicide tonight, _and_ I don’t deserve you!”

“Enjolras!” She promptly put down her drink. “Why on earth would you say that?”

He downed the rest of another beer before answering. “Four years ago, I juggled three women around for almost six months.” Another drink. “Slept with all of them at one point or another. I was always gone for some explainable reason when I was with one of the others. By the time it all fell down around me…” another drink. “I didn’t even know who I was anymore. It was…awful.”

Éponine couldn’t believe her ears. Enjolras, her Enjolras, had been a womanizer? She couldn’t see it. “You’ve got to be joking…”

Her heart sank as he nodded again, taking another huge swig of yet another beer. “I was 19. They were all about 15 or 16, I can’t even remember now.”

Her eyes got wider. “Enjolras, are you sure you know what you’re talking about? You’ve had far too much to drink…”

“Trust me, Éponine. I know exactly what I’m talking about,” he slurred again, more so than before.

She paid the bartender for both of them and stood up immediately. “Come upstairs with me, now. You don’t need anymore to drink, or you’ll be dead before you can lead your revolution.”

Enjolras shook his head violently; Éponine wouldn’t have been surprised if spit had flown everywhere. “J-just one more…”

“If you have one more, you might die!” she snapped. “I don’t want to take you to the emergency room for alcohol poisoning!”

He seemed to consider for a moment before looking at her again, now smiling far too cheerfully. “You know, you’re really very pretty…” he started to say, before he started to fall. She darted forward just in time to catch him. Sighing heavily, she forced his arm around her shoulders.

“Courf!” she hollered across the Café. “Help me move the invalid upstairs, will ya?”

The Center heeded her call, looking quite surprised at the unfolding situation. “Christ…how many did he have?”

“He told me at least ten or eleven, and he had more than that,” she answered. “He’ll want to die tomorrow morning, I wager. Can you get his other side?”

The two of them dragged Enjolras up the stairs, into the apartment above the Café. Éponine could barely contain a chuckle, thinking that just the last time she had ascended these stairs with the Leader, they’d made love right afterwards. “Thanks, Courf,” she said once they were in the room. “I’ll get him in the bed.”

As soon as the man shut the door behind him, Éponine fell to her knees on the floor, finally letting out the sobs she had been containing since Enjolras spoke. Paranoia had overcome her – what if he’d been playing her this whole time? What if he never really loved her? What if she _was_ just the street whore with dreams too far over her head, like her father said?

It took her about 5 minutes to pull herself together, before turning down the bed and hauling the huge man into it. She tucked him in, kissed his forehead, and left with one reminder echoing in her head.

_You promised, Éponine…you promised._


	9. Chapter Eight

_Eight  
When you find him in his room, thrashing the sheets_   
_Pressing his palms into the wall, howling, his face a river..._   
_Close the door._   
_This is how he makes wine. Leave him in his sorcery._

 

Enjolras woke up the next morning with the hangover to end all hangovers.

The sun was shining through the window to his left, blinding him almost completely. Squinting, he carefully sat up in bed, his head pounding without the aid of the bright light. His whole body ached, he noticed, as he tried to stretch. He groaned quietly, not knowing for a moment that he was the one making the sound.

“Ah, good to see you’re awake,” said an unidentified, but familiar voice. He thought it might be female, but his head was so cloudy that he honestly had no idea.

Enjolras opened his mouth to reply, and instead, a stream of vomit came out. Thankfully, it landed in the conveniently-placed trashcan next to the head of the bed. “God…” he moaned. “How much did I have last night?”

“Too much,” the voice reprimanded, though not unkindly. “If you’d had much more, you probably would have gotten alcohol poisoning.” As his vision slowly came into focus, he realized it was Éponine. “You passed out after about twelve or thirteen beers. Courf and I dragged you up the stairs, and I got you into bed. I stayed here all night.”

The Leader managed a small, squinty smile. _“Merci,”_ he croaked, before quickly aiming at the trashcan again, and just in time.

Éponine chuckled a little. “Lay back down for a little bit, if you can. I’m going to take care of this. You’ll need to drink a lot of water today.”

“Detox time,” he said dryly.

 

It wasn’t a fun day for the Leader.

If he tried to get out of bed and walk, his legs either gave out, or he vomited again. Thankfully, Éponine’s precision with the trashcan was spot on every time. She made him stay in bed and drink water all day, trying to clear his system of the last remnants of the alcohol and make his headache go down. By mid-morning, he was keeping down the water and dry crackers, and by midday, he could shuffle around the room.

“Alright, can I have some real food now?” he muttered after making a lap of the room, holding his head in his left hand. “I’m starving.”

“After you take a shower,” Éponine laughed. “You smell horrible.”

Enjolras was able to chuckle quietly. “I suppose so. Have I got spare clothes…?”

“Here,” she said, before he could finish his thought, holding out an old John Mayer t-shirt and jeans. “Courf and I went back to your place last night to get some clothes for you.”

He smiled a little, taking the small bundle from her. “Thanks, Ép.”

 _“Ce n'était rien,”_ she smiled. “I’m going to start breakfast,” she said as she exited the room, closing the door behind her.

Enjolras stood in the shower for far too long, letting the water run and wondering why Éponine had said _your_ place and not _our_ place. Had she completely given up on living with him? Nothing had been decided since their argument in the rain.

 _She promised…_ he kept thinking to himself. _She promised me she wouldn’t go back. Ép doesn’t break promises…she’s never broken a promise in her life._

_Has she…? How would I know?_

_Jesus, Damien. You need to calm down. You’re overthinking the little things again. Just calm down; perhaps ask her about it later, if the time seems right. Everything will be fine._

He could smell eggs and bacon cooking and coffee brewing as he opened the door to the downstairs room, his hair still damp from his shower. Grinning to himself, he went down the stairs – taking them at a reasonable pace – and sat down at the table. “Smells amazing, Ép,” he said, still grinning ear to ear like a little kid at Christmas.

“Don’t thank me; thank Courf!” she laughed, gesturing to the actual cook, who took an overdramatic bow. “I’m the one here that burns water, remember? I called him once you were in the shower and asked him to come give me a hand.”

Enjolras laughed in surprise. “Well, thank you Courfeyrac!”

The Center blushed bright red, grinning ear to ear. “Oh, stop it,” he laughed. The Leader laughed as well, giving his good friend a slap on the back as the trio sat down to eat. Courf had cooked the eggs and bacon to perfection, and the coffee was brewed to just the right strength. “Have you ever considered culinary school?” Enjolras asked, sipping his coffee between bites of bacon.

“Actually, I have,” Courf grinned. “I’m applying to a few in town right now, for next term.”

Éponine broke out in a huge grin, as did Enjolras moments later. “Courfeyrac, that’s fantastic!” she laughed elatedly. _“Félicitations!”_

 _“Fantastique!”_ Enjolras grinned, slapping his friend on the shoulder again. “I’m excited for you, _ami.”_

The Center’s blush grew deeper as his friends praised him, and he averted his eyes, a huge grin crossing his face. “Thank you both; I’m excited too,” he said. “Actually,” he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time, “I’ve got an interview in half an hour, so I’ve got to dash.”

 _“Bon chance!”_ They said at the same time, without even meaning to. They looked at each other, and then away, Éponine blushing deep crimson and biting her lower lip.

Courfeyrac just laughed. “Thanks, guys,” he grinned, picking up his backpack and phone. “I’ll let you know how it goes!” he called back over his shoulder as he headed out the door.

Éponine couldn’t bear to meet Enjolras’ gaze once they were alone. She could feel his eyes on her, practically boring into her soul, trying to find an answer to her detached manner. “I…” she stammered awkwardly. “I think I’m going to take a shower, myself.”

“Alright,” he murmured with a clearly forced smile. She returned it as best she could, but couldn’t look him in the eye for too long. _God, what must he think of me now…?_

As she hurried up the stairs, she heard his phone ring. “Hello?” he said. “Ah, Pontmercy. Good of you to call…yes, I talked to him this morning, and he’s still fine…” A pause, followed by a sigh. “No, I don’t know what’s going on with her…”

Éponine stopped on the stairs as she pretended to be doubling back for a towel, listening intently as he continued. “She’s just been acting…odd lately. I can’t quite put my finger on it. I know I let a lot of dirt slip when I got drunk last night, and I’m sure it upset her…” he sighed again, and she saw him run a hand through his hair.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she took a few steps down the staircase. “Hell, I don’t even remember everything I said. I just remember the look on her face, like she’d been betrayed…I don’t ever want to see her look at me that way again.”

She bit her bottom lip, trying her best not to lose her composure. _First he tells me about his playboy past while he’s mad drunk…and now this?_ Catching her breath, she sprinted back up the stairs and hurried into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. For about half an hour after she was finished, she stood in the shower, letting the water run and sobbing. _What the hell is even going on anymore? Did I ever even know who he is? Or has he been lying to me this whole time? Am I just another pretty face to juggle after all?_

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. “Éponine?” his voice said from the other side of the door. “Are you alright? You’ve been in there for almost an hour.”

She took a moment to compose herself. “I’m fine; I’ll be out in just a minute,” she called out, hoping he wouldn’t hear the slight crack in her voice, or the way it shook with what remained of her sobs.

An uncertain pause. “Okay…well, I’ll be downstairs,” he answered, before his footsteps signaled his leave. About ten minutes later, she was fully dressed and walking down the stairs. “Feeling better?” he said as she appeared around the corner.

She nodded, a small, shy smile crossing her face. “Hot showers always help me feel better,” she chuckled quietly, almost nervously, still avoiding eye contact. “Listen…” she started.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he answered. “I know I upset you last night when I got drunk.”

“More than that,” she said angrily, her voice already shaking again. “Enjolras, you…you scared me. You’ve made me doubt everything about our interactions for the last month and a half. I don’t think I even know who you are anymore.”

He gaped at her in shock. “Éponine…how can you say that?”

“How can I say that?!” she half-shrieked. “You told me last night about your womanizing past, and then expect me to just forget and move on?! I can’t do that!”

“Oh God…I said _that?”_ he groaned under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Did you conveniently forget about your past for a night?” she hissed.

“Conveniently?” he snapped, a lethal look in his eyes. _“Conveniently?_ I’ve been trying to forget for five years, Éponine! Don’t think for half a second that I’m proud of that!”

“So what made a man like you choose a girl like me? Think I was an easy catch?” she said coldly.

“If the man I used to be was trying to reel you in, do you think he’d tell you about his…his…his _conquests_ like that?!” he stammered indignantly, his voice rising with his temper.

Éponine scoffed. “So that’s all I am? Another notch in Damien-Henri Enjolras’ bedpost?”

“Five years ago, there wouldn’t have been any room for your notch on the bedpost,” he muttered, looking away from her.

“And how are you any different now?!” she screamed.

Enjolras winced, realizing just how far he’d dug himself into the ground. “I know my past isn’t perfect,” he murmured, “but I’ve done my best to learn from it. Just like you have. Please, Éponine…try to understand.” Despite his begging, he knew all hope was lost when he saw the fury in her eyes.

“So that’s all you ever saw in me?” she said. “Another prostitute whose experience wasn’t doubted even when she was a child? Another loathsome harlot that you could forget at sunrise?”

His eyes reflected more sadness than she had ever seen in them. “Five years ago, I would have seen you as exactly that.” A weighted pause. “Hell, maybe I still do.”

Then he turned around and left, forever the defeated soldier.

 

Éponine watched the door quietly close behind him, still in shock at what they had said to each other. His departure had shut out the light of day, and left her with a growing sense of dread. She sank to the floor with the weight of her whirling emotions, sobbing hysterically. _My God…what have I just done? What’s he going to do now…?_

She saw her phone on the corner table and lunged for it, frantically speed-dialing Enjolras. It rang four times, before the recorded message began – “Hello, you’ve reached Damien-Henri Enjolras. I can’t come to the phone right now. Please leave your name, number and a message, and I’ll get back to you.” She was still half-sobbing at the beep.

“Enjolras, it’s me…” she said, breaking down again. “Please call me back when you get this…I’m so sorry…” she hung up, still trying to regain her composure. _Now what?_

An idea sparked in her brain, and she picked up the phone again, frantically searching through it before hitting “Call” and putting it to her ear.

He answered after the first ring. “Hello?”

“Marius?” she said. “I need your help.”


	10. Chapter Nine

_Nine  
When he explains that he cannot love,_   
_That he will never be yours alone,_   
_When he tells how the meek, the gluttons, the tempted, the proud are his angels, do not mourn._   
_Smile, feed him, wash his hair._

 

Enjolras aimlessly wandered the streets of Paris, trying in vain to get his mind off the argument he’d just had with Éponine. No, not just an argument…more of a _blowup_. They’d both said some horrible things; Enjolras couldn’t believe how low they’d gone by the end.

His phone rang in his pocket – as if by divine providence, she was calling him. His bitterness returned, and he hit “Ignore,” shoving his phone back into his pocket as he waded through the busy crowds towards the bridge on the Seine.

He braced on the bridge, breathing hard and looking down at the rushing river below. _She’s furious with me…she probably never wants to see me again…and honestly, I wouldn’t blame her. But without her…what do I have left?_

“Enjolras!” a voice called out behind him.

He turned, out of habit. “Pontmercy,” he murmured as the man approached him.

The younger man reached out and embraced him as the gap between them closed. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” he said. “Éponine’s distraught; she told me that you – ”

“That I what?” he snapped angrily. “I used her? I lied to her for the last month and a half?”

Marius took a step back, confusion and surprise crossing his face. “Enjolras…” he murmured. “What on earth are you talking about? Surely you didn’t actually…”

“No,” he grunted. “Not in the way I used to treat women…” he sighed and leaned over the bridge again. “We both said some really awful things…I don’t think I know who I am anymore.”

The young man sighed, running a hand through his unruly brown hair. “I don’t really know what to tell you, Enjolras…just that you need to talk to her again. When she called me she was completely distraught. She wants to make amends.”

“That’s not the message she just gave me!” he snapped, checking his phone again as it buzzed in his pocket. He had a voicemail from Éponine. “Should I listen to it?” he asked, showing Marius the screen.

He nodded. “I would recommend it.”

The Leader sighed begrudgingly, putting the phone to his ear. The message was short, and almost unintelligible through her sobs.

“Enjolras, it’s me…” her voice said, before she started sobbing so hard that it was almost all static. “Please call me back when you get this…I’m so sorry…”

_Click._

Slowly, almost mechanically, he put the phone back in his pocket, still trying to wrap his mind around what he’d heard. How was that the same woman that had just been screaming at him not five minutes ago?

“I told you, she’s not happy with herself for this,” Marius said grimly, and the Leader turned to face him. “Talk to her, Enjolras. They call you a master of words for a reason. Surely you can talk to a woman?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “Alright. Tell her to wait for me in the Café.”

 

She was still curled up against the wall when he got there.

Enjolras was reminded of a frightened child when he opened the door and saw her sitting there, her knees pulled up to her chest, her head down, clearly sobbing. With a quiet sigh, he shut the door and crossed the room to her, his boots clicking quietly on the floor. She didn’t move as he approached her, or when he sat down next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Can we talk?” he said softly.

“What do we have to talk about?” she muttered to her lap.

He internally winced, biting his lip. “I think you know what I mean.”

Finally, she looked up towards the door, pushing her unkempt hair back from her face and sniffling. “What’s left to say, Enjolras? I tried to apologize.”

“And that’s why I came back,” he said urgently, moving to squat in front of her and grabbing her shoulders. “I have hope.”

“In what?” she scoffed. “Me?”

“That we can get past this,” he said, wiping away her tear tracks. “I know we both said some really awful things…I don’t know about you, but I didn’t mean what I said…and all I want is to prove to you that I _am_ a different man.”

She looked him in the eye with an intensity that almost scared him. “And how do you think you’re going to do that?”

He sighed heavily, dropping his gaze. “I don’t know.”

Éponine raised her eyebrows at him. “Oh? For once, the great orator of our time, Damien-Henri Enjolras is at a loss for words? I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”

“It’s not that I have no words,” he said shortly. “What I don’t know is how to prove to you that I _am_ a changed man. Éponine…when you and I were fighting…I didn’t even know who I was by the end of that. I was at the bridge over the Seine…and for a few seconds, I thought about jumping. Like Combeferre almost did, off the Pont de Pierre.”

Her jaw dropped. “No…”

Enjolras nodded. “It’s true. Both are.”

Éponine’s gape widened in disbelief. “Combeferre…almost jumped off the Pont de Pierre?”

“He would have, if I’d been a few seconds later,” Enjolras said with a grim nod. “I thought he was going to even after I got there…it was a dicey few seconds.”

“I bet…” she murmured. “That’s awful. But…why would he do that?”

Enjolras debated for a moment on whether or not to tell her the true reason for ‘Ferre’s attempted suicide, before deciding against it. _It’s his place to tell her how he feels, not mine._ “I don’t know.”

Thankfully, she seemed content with that answer. “Strange…” she murmured. “He’s always seemed so happy, especially around us.”

He nodded, finally sitting down next to her and staring at the door for a few minutes. There was a comfortable silence, and neither of them were willing to break it, until Enjolras spoke. “So…are we okay?” he asked a little awkwardly.

Éponine smiled a little. “We’re okay.”

Relief coursed through him, and he sighed heavily, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. _Thank you, Lord…and am I really holding back tears?_ “Éponine…” he murmured.

She could tell, from that one quiet utterance, that something was still weighing on him, and she pulled back. “What is it?”

He looked down, still unable to meet her gaze, and not entirely sure of what he wanted to say. “It’s…complicated.”

“Try,” she said firmly.

He sighed again, taking a moment to gather his answer. “Ép…you know that I love you, and that I would do anything in my power to make you happy and keep you safe,” he said, holding her hands between his. “I would break my back moving the French Alps if it meant you’d be happy.”

She could tell there was a catch. “But…?”

Enjolras bit his lip, and Éponine wondered for a moment if he was holding back tears. “But…no matter how I love you, I am not who I am if _Patria_ is not first written on my heart. I will always be called to save the meek, the gluttons, the tempted, the proud.”

Éponine was taken aback by his speech, and yet not surprised at all. She knew she had been the only person to crack the heart of living marble within him; why should she be surprised when it repaired itself? Deep down, she had always known that she could never be first in his heart. It was always _Patria._ It had always been _Patria,_ and it would always be _Patria._ She felt her throat close up, but she refused to cry. Instead, she called up her best acting skills and forced a smile.

“I know,” she said. “And I love you all the more for it.”

He smiled, stroking her hair back from her face and placing his forehead to hers. “Thank you, my love,” he murmured, kissing her gently. “Alright, I’ve got to go,” he said, standing up to leave.

“W-wait!” she said, popping up from her sitting position against the wall. “W-would you…stay for dinner? I’ll cook.”

Enjolras chuckled a little. “Éponine, you’re the one that burns water, remember? It’s alright, really. I’ll leave you in peace.”

“No please!” she begged, trying to force down the tears welling up in her eyes. “It’s…something I want to do. I know I can’t cook,” she laughed a little uncomfortably, “but…I want to.”

The Leader smiled, almost tiredly. “Alright. What magic do you have planned?” he laughed.

She grinned, reaching into the freezer and pulling out a frozen pizza. “If I set a timer, even I can’t mess this up!” she laughed.

They sat at the table as the pizza warmed in the oven, talking and laughing. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for dinner to be ready. Éponine got them drinks – she jokingly told Enjolras that he had to limit himself to one beer – and the pizza was gone within the next 15 minutes. The conversation, however, went on much longer.

“Do you remember the time Grantaire got so drunk he tried to write a letter to the king requesting that he legalize streaking before exams?” Enjolras laughed hysterically.

Éponine could hardly breathe for laughter. “You’re kidding!”

“I’m not!” Enjolras insisted, still laughing. “We have it here somewhere; I don’t remember where Grant put it. He joked that next time he got drunk he was going to finish it and send it!”

She cackled, her face buried in the table as she laughed. “Oh my God, that’s just like him!”

It thrilled Enjolras to see her so happy, laughing and having a good time. Still laughing, himself, he watched her as she did so, memorizing the tiny wrinkles around her scrunched-shut eyes, the dimple in her left cheek, her beautiful smile. He started to think about the days to come, and his face fell a little.

She noticed, her smile slowly fading. “What is it?” she murmured.

The Leader looked down at his folded hands, all amusement now gone. “Éponine…you know that the last of the preparation for the revolution will be taking place tomorrow. Thanks to Gavroche and his friends, we’ve been able to stockpile guns and ammunition for months in advance, but tomorrow is the final coordination of our plans.”

“Enjolras…” she started to say.

He put up a hand to stop her. “Let me finish. I know I will likely die tomorrow…and if I do – ”

“Don’t talk like that,” she begged.

Enjolras put a finger to her lips. “Please, let me finish. If I do die tomorrow…” his hand reached out to graze hers, running up her arm. “I want you to know now that I would have married you.”

She gaped at him in utter shock. “Y-you…what?”

“I would have married you,” he repeated, gripping her hand. “I would have made you my wife, and we would have gotten out of Paris to raise a family. I’d go into politics, wherever we moved. We’d have the other _Amis_ out for lunch every Sunday after Mass, and when we had kids, they would babysit for us, so I could take you out on dates – proper ones, wherever you wanted.”

Éponine could hardly believe her ears – or her mind, as she imagined a life with Enjolras exactly as he had described. “Darling…” she answered, reaching across the table to take his hand. “We don’t need rings, or a piece of paper from the government telling us we’re married. We love each other…and we’ve already shown that.”

He smiled, almost sadly. “You’re right, _chèrie,”_ he murmured, stroking her hand. “You’re always right.”

She chuckled quietly, kissing him once. “Get some sleep tonight. You’ll have a long day tomorrow.”


	11. Chapter Ten

_Ten  
He is a king among thieves._   
_The leeches will hollow his skin, the crows reduce him to bones._   
_His own heart will empty him. Allow for the bleed._   
_Be ready with tourniquet and prayer._

 

_All she could see was black. Darkness everywhere, and smoke. She couldn’t even see a hint of the fires that had destroyed that block of Paris – just the smoke that remained heavy on the air. She staggered blindly, desperately, coughing and crying out for her lover, praying he would be somewhere, alive and unharmed._

_Then, finally, she saw him._

_For several minutes, she didn’t realize that the horrifying scream she was hearing was coming from her throat. She sprinted to the barricade, trying to climb it as she shook with sobs. There he was, sprawled across the top of it – run through the sternum with his own red flag. The crows were still darting down from the black abyss above, greedily snapping up the last bits of his flesh. Nothing but bones remained of the great Marble Man – the Damien-Henri Enjolras that she had loved._

“N-no…Enjolras! NO!” Éponine screamed, shooting bolt upright in bed. She was panting, drenched in a cold sweat, and couldn’t release her death grip on the sheets. Still breathing hard, she took a moment to gather her surroundings – she was in the upstairs room of the Café, in the same bed as she’d slept in the other night.

As she came to awareness, she realized that Enjolras was next to her, and saying her name very urgently. “Éponine! Éponine, what was that?”

She swallowed hard, not looking at him. “N-nothing…just a dream.”

“Must’ve been a nightmare,” he murmured, pulling her close and stroking her hair. “Don’t worry. I’m here, and I’m fine. So are you. We’re both alright.” He kissed the top of her head, gently scratching the back of her neck through her thick hair.

“Enjolras…” she murmured, her head resting on his chest. “You were…dead. Completely gone.”

He frowned. “What do you mean when you say ‘completely’ gone?” he murmured.

She bit her bottom lip, holding back tears. “Y-you were…a skeleton on top of the barricade. Run through with the red flag.” The dam broke when her sentence ended, and she burst into tears.

He sighed softly with pity, holding her even closer. “Oh, Éponine…” he murmured, kissing the top of her head again. “Shh…it was just a nightmare…I’m alive, I’m fine, I’m here next to you…”

She started shaking as she wept, gripping the front of his shirt. “It was…awful…there were crows eating what was left of you…” she cried even harder, gasping raggedly in between sobs.

“Don’t dwell on it, my love,” he murmured in her ear. “It wasn’t real, I swear…”

Éponine’s ragged sobs finally turned into ragged breaths as she started to calm down. “I know…but it was so frightening…I don’t want to lose you like that…”

“No leeches will hollow my skin, and no crows will reduce me to bones,” he murmured in her ear. “I promise you that.” He kissed her forehead, nose and lips gently. “Go back to sleep, darling. I’ll be right here, all night.”

 

The last of the preparations began early that morning – Enjolras was up by 8:00, and the _Amis_ were congregated at the Musain about 15 minutes later. Gavroche was there too, along with some of his friends who all lived in the elephant in the main square – they’d agreed to let the _Amis_ store their guns and ammunition there, and were singing with each other as they carefully relayed small amounts of ammunition and guns in pieces back to their hiding place.

Éponine did her best to stay out of the way as the men bustled about downstairs, getting counts on guns, ammunition, men that would be present, planning who would stand where for the funeral procession, who would be where on the hearse when the time came…when lunchtime rolled around, though, she cooked up another three frozen pizzas for the hungry men, who devoured them all within a few minutes.

“Thank you, Éponine!” Courfeyrac said through a full mouth, giving her a big thumbs-up.

“Yeah, thanks Ép!” Grantaire hollered from his corner across the room as he toasted her with his brandy. She could tell that he was already getting drunk, at midday.

All she could do was laugh. “You’re welcome, boys,” she grinned.

Enjolras looked over his shoulder to her from the table, grinning from ear to ear. He held out an arm, and she crossed the room to hug him. “Thank you, sweetie,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

“No problem. You boys get back to your revolution!” she laughed.

He allowed himself a small smile as she walked away from the men, trying not to think about what might happen to her after tomorrow, when he was gone. He watched her smile at Joly, check on Combeferre, chat with Courfeyrac, laugh with Grantaire, and prayed it wouldn’t be the last time.

 _Enough,_ he told himself. _She’ll be fine; she knows how to make her way in the world. You have to focus on the task at hand._

“Enjolras?” he heard Marius saying his name.

“Hmm?” he asked a little distractedly, his mind still following Éponine as she wandered the room. “What was that?”

“I was asking if you wanted me to stand with you on the funeral route tomorrow. The rest of the _Amis_ are pretty evenly spaced all the way back to here, and I want to stand by you.”

The Leader gave his young friend a smile, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I would be honored if you would stand next to me at General Lamarque’s funeral tomorrow,” he said. He knew he was being more emotive than usual, but this might be one of the last times he saw all of them alive. Deep down, in a secret place in his heart, he knew they were all going to die tomorrow.

In an attempt to distract himself, Enjolras turned away from the group at the table, poring over maps of the city, to the drunk in the corner. “Grantaire!” He barked in the best military voice he could muster. “If you’re going to be here, man, put the damn bottle down!”

He finished a huge swig before answering. “What’s the point of it? You know we’re all going to die, Enjolras. I can tell it in your eyes.”

Enjolras attempted to shrug off Grantaire’s uncanny ability to see right through his calm façade. “Can the nihilism for one night, if you don’t mind,” he answered through clenched teeth. “Even if we are going to die, we’re going to die fighting for a worthy cause – for _Patria._ ”

“What is your _Patria_ but a broken mess of filthy streets? Men robbing each other, women and children starving to death because their husbands and fathers can’t provide for them?” the drunkard answered, finally standing up. No one in the _Amis_ had ever seen him so spirited – or so articulate while under the influence.

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to fix!” Enjolras shouted back. “Who are you to argue against my revolution? You come to the meetings, but you say nothing. You sit in the corner wasting your money on drink and idle pleasure. You believe in nothing!” He turned around, fully intending to walk away and let it be.

A pause. “I believe in you,” he said softly.

Enjolras stopped dead in his tracks, slowly turning to face him again. The whole Café was now silent, watching to see what would play out between the two men. “W-what?”

“I believe in you,” he repeated simply, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever believed in. All my life, I’ve felt hopeless. That was why I started drinking when I was thirteen. And then when we got to university, I met you, and the _Amis…_ and for the first time, I felt like I had something to live for. That was why I always came to the meetings so faithfully – because you gave me hope, Enjolras.”

The Leader’s brow furrowed as he listened to him, trying to wrap his brain around everything that was being said. “Grantaire, what the hell are you saying?” he ended up snapping in irritation. “If you have something important to say, talk to me in private after tonight’s meeting.”

He would not face this now. He had more important things to face than the ramblings of a drunk man that he didn’t even like. The revolution had always been, and would always be, first in his heart.

_As much as I hate to think it…even before her._

The planning session went on for hours and hours on end. Éponine thought the _Amis_ were never going to leave the Café, but gradually, they trickled out – Bahorel left first, claiming his girlfriend had texted him, then gradually, they all disappeared – Feuilly, Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, Joly, Marius, Lesgle, Combeferre – until Enjolras, Éponine and Grantaire were the only ones left. The Leader was still bustling around, gathering up papers and checking counts, while Éponine did dinner dishes and Grantaire drank. Enjolras turned to the papers on the table before him, not noticing the look Grantaire sent him.

But Éponine recognized it from seeing it in the mirror. She found herself overwhelmed with pity for the man in the corner, who could only seek refuge from his tormented feelings in the bottle. As she dried the last dish and put it away, she walked over to him and sat down next to him, silent at first, for lack of words.

After a few minutes of silence, as Enjolras went upstairs, he spoke.

“Every moment you spend with him, I envy you.”

Éponine looked over at him. “You shouldn’t. It kills me to be near him and know that he’ll always love something else more. That I’ll never be first in his heart.”

He snorted into his bottle. “You should be happy. At least you have that. I’d give the world for…” he trailed off, taking another swig. “For even a look from him that wasn’t just scathing. And you…you don’t realize how lucky you really are. He loves you, and wants to wake up next to you in the morning. I’ll never know what that’s like.”

“Don’t say that, Grantaire,” she said.

“Why not? It’s true; we both know it is,” he said bitterly, finishing off the bottle. “And he’s going to die tomorrow. You know it, too,” he added, walking away.

She sat at the table for a long time, dwelling on his words and trying not to cry. The worst part was that everything he’d said was true. She _was_ lucky, and didn’t realize just how much she had when she was with him. She should have been happy, grateful. Éponine felt horribly selfish as she thought about her relationship with Enjolras – she had given herself to him time and time again, only to be afraid later of the past, the future – even the present. He knew her so well…and she felt like she hardly knew him at all.

She didn’t look up when Grantaire slammed the door as he left, or when Enjolras came back down the stairs in his nightclothes, locking up the Café. “Éponine?” he murmured gently, stroking her hair back from her face. “Are you alright, love? You look…sad.”

Éponine smiled, looking up at him. “I’m fine. I’m just a little tired.”

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he said. “I was just about to go to bed; are you coming?”

She nodded. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Enjolras nodded, kissing her forehead. “I love you,” he murmured as he went upstairs, shutting the door behind him.

 

“He’s not as bad as you make him out to be,” Éponine said.

They had just made love and were curled up together under the sheets, his arms around her as she rested her head on his chest. “You should give him a chance.”

“Who?” Enjolras frowned at her.

“Grantaire,” she said simply. “I talked to him tonight while you were up here, and he’s not just an alcoholic nihilist. He deserves your pity rather than your scorn.”

His look grew darker. “A man who wastes his money on nothing but drink does not deserve my pity,” he said coldly. “He comes to the Café to do nothing but drink, criticize the revolution, and remind me of my own imminent demise. Tell me how that deserves my pity.”

“He drinks because of unrequited love,” Éponine said flatly. “He cares about you at least as much as I do, if not more. The first words he spoke to me tonight were to tell me he envies every moment we have together. And you do nothing but scorn him. Why?”

“Éponine, I cannot love anyone who only opens his mouth to degrade my _Patria,_ ” Enjolras answered measuredly. “I love you not just because you accept that this revolution is part of me, but because you were the only one to see me as more than just the Leader. I was able to open up to you and show you my true self, more than anyone else I’ve ever known. I could never have the same connection without you.”

She smiled a little at his praise. “And you…you saw me as more than just the daughter of a street gang leader. The reason I’d always clung to Marius like the tail on a dog was because I thought he could make me better than I was…and then I met you, and everything changed. You…actually reached out to me, which was what he never did. I didn’t realize until that first night I danced for you downstairs. You…cared.”

He kissed her forehead, grinning ear to ear. “And I always will, _mon chèrie,”_ he whispered. “ _Toujours.”_

Éponine took his face between her hands and kissed him slowly, savoring every instant that his lips touched hers. She could feel the seconds they had left together slipping away, each one causing her almost physical pain as it ticked by. The brontide of his approaching death was constant in the back of her head.

She did her best to memorize every detail of the moment – his weight on top of her, the tickle of the hair on his legs, his calloused hands resting on her bare shoulders as he held her close, his soft lips on hers, the simmering heat between their bodies, the muscles in his arms that bulged as he held himself up on his elbows, the rough stubble on his soft cheeks under her touch – knowing this could be the last time they were together. She let her fingers slip into his hair, not wanting the moment to ever end. _“Je t’aime, mon chère,”_ she whispered. _“Mon rêve c'était d'être le tien.”_

The Leader gently stroked her hair back from her face, smiling sadly. _“Je rêve d’être le tien aussi, chèrie,”_ he whispered back, closing his eyes and letting himself fall asleep in the arms of his love.


	12. Chapter Eleven

_Eleven  
In the dry burn of dawn, after the last of the lashes, the thorns and the spittle,_   
_When his limp body is laid at your feet, remember the night you loved him._   
_The ember of his eyes and the way the words came like honey._

 

Enjolras woke up first the next morning, not moving when his eyes first opened. It was a morning like any other – the sun was barely up, coming in through the left window, there were already birds singing outside, even a few people out and about. He assumed they were the workers, on their way to their early morning jobs.

_Everything seems so normal…and yet, today will be anything but just another day._

He felt Éponine shifting in the bed as she slept, her breathing still deep and slow. He slowly turned to look at her as she slept. Her face wasn’t as calm as it usually was – she looked sad, almost worried, her brow furrowed as she dreamed. He sighed quietly, gently pushing a few strands of her hair out of her face and kissing her forehead. She stirred slightly, her breathing deepening a little as she woke up.

“Mmmh…Enjolras?” she asked softly, her eyes still closed, her voice still heavy with sleep.

“Right here, darling,” he murmured in her ear, kissing her temple. “Did you sleep alright?”

She nodded, her eyes opening as she sat up in bed. “Better than the night before, to be sure. No scary dreams this time, don’t worry,” she said, making him chuckle quietly. “What time is it?”

“Sunrise,” he murmured. “I’ve got to get ready.”

Éponine looked away as he got out of the bed, going to the nearby closet and pulled out the outfit he’d selected a few days before – black pants, a white shirt, and red jacket with gold buttons that looked like it had come straight from a military stockpile. She sat up in bed, watching him dress, memorizing every move he made, knowing that this could be the last day she saw him alive. In that moment, Éponine wanted nothing more than to deck him, so he could see that _living_ for something was so much more important than _dying_ for it. Because living for what you loved was infinitely harder – as she knew all too well.

They only made eye contact a few times as he dressed, but it was clear to him in each one that she didn’t want him to go, that she didn’t want to lose him like that. Her eyes were begging him to stay, and it killed him inside to look away and refuse her each time.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she finally murmured from the bed.

“And I don’t want to leave you, especially not like this,” he answered. “But _Patria_ calls, and who am I to refuse her?”

 

Éponine stayed in the corner of the downstairs room, silent, as Enjolras opened the Café, welcomed the _Amis_ as they each arrived – including little Gavroche, on Courfeyrac’s back, and even Grantaire, who was remarkably sober – and briefed them on the mission of the afternoon.

 _“Amis de l’abaissé, sommes-nous prêts?”_ he asked. A loud cheer was his answer, and they all started hurrying out the door, ready to be at their positions along the parade route. Enjolras was the last to leave, looking back at Éponine before he exited the Café. As he looked into the eyes of his vulnerable miracle girl for the last time, he had no words to say. In that look that said more than words, there was closure.

The door swung shut behind him, and Éponine stayed where she was. “I love you,” she whispered to the empty room, silent tears streaming down her face. “I love you.”

 

 

 _Do you hear the people sing?  
_ __  
Singing the song of angry men?

_It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again!_

It was revolution time, and the _Amis_ along the parade route were singing the revolution song that Prouvaire had penned in the weeks before.

 

_When the beating of your heart_

_Echoes the beating of the drums,_

_There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes._

_Will you join in our crusade,_

_Who will be strong and stand with me?_

_Beyond the barricade,_

_Is there a world you long to see?_

The Leader leaped out into the street, waving the huge red flag of the revolution with all his might.

 

 _“Then join in the fight that will give you the right to be free!”_ he cried, a call to action.

_Do you hear the people sing?_

_Singing the song of angry men?_

_It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again!_

_When the beating of your heart_

_Echoes the beating of the drums,_

_There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes._

 

Marius and Enjolras had climbed the hearse, and Courfeyrac was now hanging off the side.

 

_Will you give all you can give,_

_So that our banner may advance?_

_Some will fall and some will live;_

_Will you stand up and take your chance?_

_The blood of the martyrs will water the meadows of France!_

_Do you hear the people sing?_

_Singing the song of angry men?_

_It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again!_

_When the beating of your heart_

_Echoes the beating of the drums,_

_There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes._

They had rounded the corner, where the soldiers awaited them. Marius and Enjolras were both panting, and the latter distantly heard Courfeyrac letting go of the hearse and jumping to the ground. He drew himself up to his full height as he pulled out his pistol, even though he had no intention of shooting first. Marius did the same at his right.

“Draw!” the leader of the mounted soldiers shouted, and out came all of their sabers. The Leader could practically feel the eyes – and barrels – of all the soldiers around them, on the street or hidden.

“Don’t shoot until they do,” he whispered to Marius, who gave a tiny, sharp nod in response.

As if on cue, a shot rang out from the right. In the confusion, Enjolras grabbed onto Marius’ sleeve, swearing under his breath, until he realized the shot hadn’t been aimed at them.

“She was an innocent woman!” Combeferre was shouting over the chaos that had broken out. “MURDERER!”

The Leader and the Guide made eye contact at a distance, and at a nod from the former, the latter and the Center dragged out the guilty soldier, and Enjolras executed him with one shot to the head.

“CHARGE!” the commander on horseback shouted, and suddenly it was war. The revolution was happening. Enjolras and Marius shot two soldiers off their horses, before leaping off the hearse.

“TO THE BARRICADE!” The Leader shouted.

 _“Vive le France!”_ Marius shouted, jumping on horseback and carrying the flag. The Leader looked around at the chaos around him, his heart pounding, and in that moment, he knew.

_The board is set. The pieces are moving. No turning back now._

The pandemonium outside echoed the anarchy flying around in Éponine’s head as she paced around the Café. She had already put on some spare men’s clothes – she thought they might be old ones of Enjolras’ – that she had taken from the closet upstairs. She was going to fight; she didn’t care what he said. He was going to die, and she couldn’t bear the thought of going on without him.

Time was stretching inside those four walls – minutes felt like hours, and hours like days as she waited for any sign of Enjolras or the _Amis_. She worried more and more as the clock on the wall ticked on, unmoved by the bedlam outside.

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

Éponine sat at a table, twiddled her thumbs, ran the stairs, and tried to distract herself from her fears, to no avail.

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

_What if they never make it back to the Café?_ She started to wonder. She bit her lip, trying not to cry as she thought of it.

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

Horse hooves outside, then all hell broke loose as Marius breathlessly raced in the front door.

“Marius!” she exclaimed.

“Get up the stairs; it’s begun!” he shouted. “We’ll need as much furniture from the top floor as you can throw down!”

She was startled by his demands, but raced up the stairs into the apartment, closing the door behind her. Chaos reigned in the streets below; she could vaguely see the shape of Enjolras running to the window of the Café, barking orders and pointing people in different directions.

_He’s still alive. Thank God._

“Éponine!” his voice jerked her out of her reverie. “Start throwing whatever you can! We need it all!”

As if shocked into action, she grabbed the nearest chair and hurled it out the window. Enjolras deftly caught it, throwing it onto the pile. He grinned up at her, like a schoolboy on an adventure – Éponine assumed he was too energized to notice that she’d changed – and she did her best to smile back, though she could hardly bear the sight of it.

_Oh Enjolras, my darling…don’t leave me, my love. Please._

The barricade went up in a matter of minutes, Enjolras proudly planting the red flag in its top when they completed it. He stood there for a moment, hand still on the flagpole, watching his friends below him, still securing it, gathering supplies from inside the Café, making sure everyone was where they were supposed to be…

_So…this is revolution._

After a while, he jogged back down the makeshift staircase on his right side, joining them on the cobblestones as the sun started to sink below the horizon. Joly and Combeferre were setting up their makeshift hospital, and Grantaire had already found the wine store inside the Café. Enjolras rolled his eyes at the drunkard, but remembering Éponine’s words, decided to leave him be.

He saw her approaching him from the Café, and went straight to her, wrapping her tightly in his arms. He couldn’t hear her sobs, but knew from her shaking torso that she was releasing the agony of an entire day not knowing if he was dead or alive onto his shoulder. He squeezed her gently as the catharsis progressed, patiently waiting for her to recover.

“I thought I’d lost you,” she whispered to his shirt.

“Not yet, my love,” he whispered back to the top of her head. She half-chuckled quietly, and he smiled…before noticing that she was wearing a cap. “Éponine…” he started to say, before he took her by the shoulders and stepped back. “Why are you…?”

“I’m going to fight, Enjolras,” she said firmly. “If you’re going to die, I’m going to die with you. Even though I don’t want you to die,” she said.

He sighed quietly. “I know, love. And I don’t want to leave you…”

“…but _Patria_ calls,” she said, finishing his thought. “I know.”

The Leader smiled sadly again, kissing her forehead, nose and lips. “I love you, Éponine,” he said softly, wishing it didn’t have to end this way.

“I love you too, Enjolras,” she murmured.

 

Finally, night had fallen at the barricade.

Enjolras sighed softly; the day had left him worn. “Courfeyrac, you take the watch; they may attack before it’s light,” he said. “Everybody keep the faith,” he continued as the Center took his post. “For certain as our banner flies, we are not alone; the people, too, must rise.”

To his left, he saw Marius still piling furniture and other miscellaneous junk that had been thrown at them earlier. “Marius, rest,” he said gently, approaching the younger man and putting a hand on his arm. The look in his eyes was desperate, almost sad, as the Leader tried to reassure him. “Fear not for your love, _mon ami_. She will be safe,” he said, simultaneously trying in vain to reassure himself of the same thing.

Marius sighed quietly as he dejectedly threw part of a splintered bookcase onto the pile and sat at its foot. “It’s just not fair,” he murmured.

The Leader frowned, taking a seat next to him. “What isn’t fair?”

As Marius was about to answer, the two men could hear footsteps on the cobblestone streets. Simultaneously they froze, their hearts pounding and breaths heaving in perfect unison.

“Soldiers,” Enjolras whispered, his voice almost afraid.

The single, dreaded word acted like a trigger. Instantly, all the _Amis_ leapt up, grabbing their guns and racing up to their assigned places on the barricade as Marius hissed to them, “To your positions, to your positions!” Enjolras was vaguely aware of someone handing him a gun as he mounted the barricade, hiding behind a couple of chairs next to Gavroche – who was holding a pistol, much to his surprise – as the approaching footsteps gradually got louder. Soon, they could hear the leader’s voice calling the cadence, and the footsteps were like an earthquake in his head. The Leader’s heart was pounding, his mouth was dry, his palms were sweaty; yet somehow, he managed to keep a steady hold on his gun.

“Hold your fire,” Marius instructed urgently as the soldiers rounded the corner. “Hold your fire…”

“Front pack, kneel!”

“Save your gunpowder…”

“Take aim!”

“Get down,” he said, his voice nothing more than a murmur.

“Who’s there?!” shouted the general.

Enjolras felt all eyes turn to him. He looked at Éponine once, wetting his lips, and looked back to the street to yell, “French Revolution!”

A brief pause.

“FIRE!”

Then all hell broke loose.

 

Even in her wildest dreams – or nightmares – Éponine could have never imagined how she would have felt in that battle.

It was dark, except for the torches around the barricade. Shots rang out everywhere, and the voices of the students and the soldiers mingled together in loud, desperate shouts. She had picked up a spare gun, fully intending to fight, but was now terrified.

_Come on, Ép. Do it for Enjolras._

Her strength renewed, she took up a station on the barricade, gripping the gun tighter. She managed a quick glance at Joly, on her right, and copied his posture, pressing the butt of the gun against her shoulder and pulling the trigger. The gun’s kick took her by surprise, and she winced, but she bit her lower lip and refused to cry out.

_Come on, Ép. Be strong for Enjolras._

She squinted over the barrel of the gun, mimicking the posture of the other boys, and as soon as a soldier was in front of her barrel, she fired, doing her best to resist the pain of the kick. She saw Enjolras grab a soldier’s gun and headbutt him over the top of the barricade, before going back to shooting as quickly as he could.

He didn’t see the soldier behind him, slowly starting to aim at his upper neck.

“Enjolras, look out!” she heard Gavroche shouting behind her.

“Enjolras!” she screamed, fighting her way towards him. “NO!”

As she was about to reach him, Combeferre pushed her roughly out of the way and turned the barrel towards his chest, just as the soldier fired. Éponine froze as he buckled with the pain, falling down the barricade as he cradled his chest.

“Fall back – !” she heard Marius shout, before hitting a soldier over the head with a torch, a barrel of gunpowder over his back. “Fall back, or I burn the barricade!”

“Blow it up and take yourself with it!” the soldier shouted in response.

_How did he get up there with that gunpowder?!_

“Christ!” Courfeyrac whispered in terror, crossing himself.

Enjolras had started to approach Marius, climbing the barricade behind him, but stopped as the confrontation played out. Éponine seemed to be the only one to notice Combeferre nursing his fatal wound at the foot of the barricade, his face twisted with pain.

“And myself with it…” he murmured, slowly lowering the torch.

“Back! Back!” they shouted. Within minutes, they were gone, and Enjolras had slowly pried the torch from Marius’ grip, panting. Once the situation was diffused, Éponine raced to Combeferre’s side, crying out his name as she fell to her knees.

“Oh, ‘Ferre…” she murmured. Her hands fluttered uselessly, trying to figure out something she could do to help him.

The Guide only gave her a weak smile. “It’s alright, Éponine…I’m…” he coughed. “I’m…g-going to be with God…it’ll all b-be over s-soon.”

“But you can’t die!” she cried. “It’s not your time yet!”

“It is m-my time, Ép,” he whispered, gasping in pain as he tried to move. “I…I h-have to go…”

Éponine could hardly hold back a sob as she took the dying man’s hand in her own, squeezing it gently, willing him to hold on just a little longer. “What do you want me to do?” she whispered. The Leader watched from the door of the Café, wishing he didn’t have to watch his friend die.

The Guide reached out to touch Éponine’s cheek. “S…stay w-with me un…unt-til I’m g-gone…and k-know that I loved you,” he whispered.

She mimicked his gesture, trying even harder not to cry. “Oh, ‘Ferre…” she murmured again. She looked back at Enjolras, who only nodded. Swiftly, she squeezed the Guide’s hand and pressed her lips to his. She felt him kiss her back for a moment, his hand resting on her neck, before she felt his last breath slide across her lips. She pulled away as he slumped against the barricade, gone from them forever.

The dam broke, and Éponine burst into tears, slumping over the Guide’s dead body and wailing. The Leader looked to the Center, tilting his head towards the two of them, and they closed the gap. Enjolras knelt behind Éponine, putting an arm around her shoulder, and as she turned to cry on him, Courfeyrac scooped up Combeferre’s body, carrying him behind the Café – their first casualty.

“He is the first to fall…” The Leader murmured as the Center carried the Guide away. “The first to fall upon this barricade.”

“We fight here in his name,” The Center answered.

“He will not die in vain,” Grantaire said.

“He will not be betrayed,” Marius murmured.

Éponine knelt at the foot of the barricade for several minutes after Combeferre’s body was taken away, cradling herself, drained and void of emotion. She saw Gavroche sit with her out of the corner of her eye, but when she was unresponsive for several minutes, he left her in peace. She couldn’t believe that a man she knew – a good friend, who had loved her, and only told her as he was dying in her arms – was truly gone. It started to rain as she knelt there, but still, she couldn’t move. _Somehow,_ she thought, _it can’t be real. I’ll wake up tomorrow morning to Enjolras next to me, no barricade, a living Combeferre…_

But deep in her heart, she knew that what she was living was terrifyingly real.


	13. Chapter Twelve

_Twelve  
You were made for this._

 

It was the first time Enjolras regretted seeing a sunrise.

As his eyes slowly opened the next morning, the memories of the previous day came rushing back without delay – waking up with Éponine at the Café, Lamarque’s funeral, building the barricade, Ép dressed as a boy, the first attack…

And Combeferre…

The Leader was suddenly overwhelmed with grief as the crushing reality of the Guide’s death truly set in. His best friend, his second in command, his fellow philosopher, was gone. Never again would he walk into the Café, laughing boisterously from a joke he’d just heard; he would never stand next to Enjolras again as they discussed politics and philosophy…he would never light up the world with his presence again. The world had become a dimmer place without Jean-Gilbert Combeferre.

The sorrow had lasted through the night, but when the sun arose on the bloodied barricade, there was no joy with the morning.

He got up from the cot on the floor of the Café where he’d been sleeping with Éponine, walking to the window in just his too-big sleeping clothes. He didn’t know how long he stood there, watching the sunrise, remembering the Guide – especially the way he had taken a bullet for him at the very last, refusing to let Éponine die in the process. Enjolras leaned against the side of the window, closing his eyes.

 _Why now, ‘Ferre?_ He thought to himself. _Why did you have to leave us now? We need our Guide more than ever…_

There were quiet footsteps behind him, and then a small, delicate hand on his shoulder. A woman’s hand. He turned his head, and Éponine stood behind him, her eyes still red and puffy from crying. He put his arms around her, and they held each other for just a moment. “I can’t believe it…” she said. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

He kissed her hair and swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat. “I can’t either,” he croaked softly, a single tear escaping the corner of his eye.

Éponine pressed her forehead into his sternum. “Holding him while he died…” she started. “Especially after what he told me…I can’t tell you how it made me feel.”

Enjolras tightened his hold on her, not even wanting to imagine what she might be feeling. “I’m so sorry…” he whispered into her hair. “No one should have to endure that.”

“Then why did I?” she whispered. “Why did God do this to us?”

He paused, sighing heavily. “I can’t answer that, my love. His will is not mine to know.”

Éponine pushed her hair out of her face, standing upright in his arms. “But it is ours to carry out,” she said. “Do you think this revolution to be the work of God?”

“I do,” the Leader said without hesitation. “And as long as I draw breath, Jean-Gilbert Combeferre will not have died in vain. I will fight until there is no way for me to win…and then I’ll keep going.”

She nodded, her face hardening. “And I’ll be by your side until the end,” she answered. Enjolras kissed her forehead, before putting two fingers in his mouth and whistling to wake up the men.

It was day two of revolution.

 

By 10:00 am, nothing had happened. Éponine was helping Bahorel lug crates of food from the Café’s storage room to feed the men a small midmorning meal as Gavroche distributed the food, and Enjolras was leaning against the makeshift stairwell, holding his head in his hand.

Éponine knew exactly what was bothering him, and that she could do nothing to fix it. She ground her teeth together, trying not to fling the heavy crates at Bahorel in her frustration. She was already going to lose the man she loved; why did it have to be like this?

She went to him when she and Bahorel finished their task, his face now completely buried in his hands. “I wish we had more time together,” she said quietly, his face buried in her hair. “If it were in my power…I’d stop time for us. And we’d live the future you envisioned for us.”

The Leader squeezed her close, and Éponine thought she felt a tear fall into her hair. “I wish we could, my darling,” he whispered, kissing her temple. _“Je t’aime, mon chèrie._ _Mon rêve c'était d'être le tien._ _”_

 _“Je t’aime, mon chère,”_ she replied. _“Je rêve d’être le tien aussi.”_

The couple only shared a brief moment, before Marius approached them. “Enjolras! Rain’s damaged the gunpowder,” he said. “We’re low on ammunition.”

“We’re the only barricade left,” Enjolras answered flatly.

Éponine was shocked. They couldn’t be the only ones left; it had only been one day…there was no way the French army had been so efficient.

Marius seemed to share her thoughts. “What?” he whispered.

“We’re the only ones left,” Enjolras answered, in the same, flat – almost lifeless – tone as before. The _Amis_ were now gathering around the three of them. Some had heard what he had said, and passed it on to the others. Enjolras sighed as they assembled around him, their eyes all clearly asking questions. “The people have not stirred…we are abandoned by those who still live in fear,” he said. “Let us not waste lives. Let all who wish to…go from here.”

Éponine gaped. _He’s letting them go? We must really be the only ones. There’s no chance we could win._

_Remember what he said, Éponine…until there was no way, and then keep going. And you promised you’d be with him._

So she stayed, as did everyone else.

 

_“Do you hear the people sing?_

_Singing the song of angry men?_

_It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again!”_

Gavroche had started singing, and the _Amis_ were gradually joining in.

 

_“When the beating of your heart_

_Echoes the beating of the drums_

_There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!”_

Their strength renewed, the rest of the _Amis_ mounted the barricade for another day of fighting. Éponine and Bahorel took the unopened crates back into the Café, Bahorel locking the door as soon as they finished.

“We’re all going to die,” he murmured, leaning against the door. He looked over his shoulder at Éponine. “Aren’t we?”

She bit her lip. “That’s what Enjolras has lead me to believe.”

The young man sighed, a downcast look coming over his face. “I was afraid of that…but it’s no surprise. We’re outgunned, outmanned…we know we should have all died last night. It was a miracle that Marius got them to retreat like that.”

Ép nodded in agreement. “I’m still surprised about it.”

Bahorel paused before answering, reaching into his pocket. “If I don’t make it out of here…” he pulled out a small box, covered in black velvet. “Can you make sure that this gets to my Camille?”

She sighed quietly and smiled, taking the box from him. “Of course, Bahorel.”

A sudden gunshot, and chaos outside. “What the hell?!” he shouted, grabbing his rifle from the corner of the room and racing outside. Éponine followed, hot on his heels. “Joly!” she shouted to the man, whose face was a picture of fear. “Are they here?”

“It’s Gavroche!” he cried. “They – ”

Another shot, and she heard a quiet _thump._

“NO!” Courfeyrac screamed, leaping over the barricade.

Éponine’s heart sank as she froze with fear. _No. No, no, no, no, NO. They can’t kill Gav…not Gav!_

The Center, however, brought the child’s body back around the barricade, cradling him and sobbing. She raced to his side, clutching her little brother as Courfeyrac held on to them.

“You of the barricades, listen to this!”

Everyone fell silent, their heads shooting towards the source of the sound – a general, on the other side of the barricade.

“The people of Paris sleep in their beds. You have no chance! No chance at all! Why throw your lives away?”

All eyes turned to the Leader, his chest heaving, his eyes clouded over with anger at the child’s death. Éponine looked to him, simultaneously pleading for justice for her brother, and begging him to live.

He turned back to face the soldiers. “Let us die…facing our foes…” he said softly. “Make them bleed while we can…”

“Make them pay through the nose,” Éponine whispered.

“Make them pay for every man!” Courfeyrac echoed.

“Let others rise to take our place!” Enjolras shouted, the rallying cry reaching its climax. “UNTIL THE EARTH IS FREE!”

He heard the general take a deep breath. “CANNONS!”

Éponine’s eyes grew wide as she looked at him, and he leapt down the barricade to her. “Get out of here, now,” he hissed urgently. “They’re going to obliterate us, and I don’t want you to get caught in the crossfire…or to watch me die.”

“I’m not leaving you!” she cried.

“Ép, listen! I don’t have much time,” he said firmly. “Take Gavroche, and get out of here. You’ve seen enough death.”

She couldn’t argue with that. She clutched him as close as she possibly could one last time, kissing him hard and fast. “I love you,” she whispered through her tears.

“I love you, too,” he whispered, also crying as he remounted the barricade.

“Quick as you come, men! Look lively!” she heard the general shouting as she scooped her little brother’s body into her arms and ran away. Enjolras watched her go, wishing it wasn’t the last time.

“Far right first!” Marius shouted.

“Wait for it, wait for it…!” Bahorel called.

“FIRE!” The Leader screamed.

 

Was it really two minutes ago that they had all died? He didn’t know; he was staring down too many barrels. He had watched his friends fall, one by one – Bahorel, Feuilly, Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, Joly…and now he, their Leader, would be the last to die.

 _So this is how it ends,_ he thought, his gaze going to the hardwood floor. _A firing squad, and one murderer. Oh, my friends, forgive me…I never wanted it to end this way. And Éponine…forgive me for leaving you like this. I wish I could see you one last time. I loved you…more than anything…even my_ Patria. _She has abandoned me, right at the end, when you never could. I should have put you first all these years. Please, my love…forgive me, for I cannot forgive myself._

A shuffling at the door distracted him, and he slowly raised his head. In an odd way, he was glad that it was Grantaire that was with him at the end. A sad smile crossed his face as the drunkard came into the room. Still carrying an empty bottle, he looked first at the Leader, then at the soldiers about to shoot him.

“Let me die with him.”

Enjolras was suddenly much more alert when he heard the man speak. He looked straight at him, wanting to say, _What the hell are you doing? Get out, before they kill you too!_

“For God’s sake, what’s going on here?” the general snapped.

“I wish to die alongside my leader,” Grantaire answered. “Perhaps I’ve been drunk and asleep this whole battle, but I was a believer in the republic. I know everyone else is already dead…and I want to die with him. Neither of us should die alone.”

A sad smile crossed the Leader’s face, and he extended a hand to the man for the first time. _You would be proud of me if you could see this right now, Éponine…that at the last, I chose to give him my sympathy, my pity, and not my scorn._

Grantaire returned his smile, crossing the room to the man he loved, and took his outstretched hand. Together, they faced the soldiers, and Enjolras raised his beloved red flag for the last time.

_For you, my darling Éponine…I loved you._

Eight shots, and he knew no more.

 

When she went back to the Café a few hours after the gunshots had stopped, she already knew what awaited her. But Éponine could have never prepared herself for what she saw. Enjolras was hanging upside down out the second-story window of the Café, his chest riddled with bullets, his body covered in blood, the red flag of the revolution still clutched tightly in his dead fist.

It took her a moment to realize that the horrible, blood-curdling scream she heard was coming out of her throat. She didn’t care when the passersby started to stare – all she could do was run, inside the Café, up the stairs, through the door…

_Mon Dieu, why can’t I be dreaming?_

The toe of his left boot was the only thing still holding him in the window, and it was slipping fast. She reached out and grabbed him just before he would have fallen to the street, pulling him to her chest as she sobbed and sobbed, weeping bitterly for all she’d lost. She had always known how this revolution would end, but it was still so unfair to her – that it had to be _her_ man to lead them, _her_ man to die by firing squad.

_Everything must come to dust. It was only his time._

She buried her face in his shoulder as she continued weeping, half-thinking his arm would curl around her any minute, that she’d hear him say _“Shh, it’s alright, Ép; I’m right here.”_

But she knew that moment would never come.

Éponine carried him down the stairs, where the rest of the _Amis_ were in a line, their eyes closed. A little spark of hope made its way to her heart when she saw that Marius wasn’t in the line, and she said a prayer that he had gotten out alive. She gently laid him down at the front of the line, closing his eyes. She pried the red flag from his grip – still strong, even in death – and laid it over his body, as if to mark him as their leader.

_Goodbye, my darling. I loved you._

She was on the front row at their funeral.

The families had elected to hold one mass funeral for all of the _Amis,_ since they had all died for the same cause. Éponine sat on the front row of the church alongside the families, wearing a heavy black dress and veil. She could feel the eyes of everyone else in the church on her as she kept her gaze downcast, trying not to break down wailing in the middle of the service. Earlier that day, she had given Bahorel’s girlfriend, Camille, the ring he had bought to propose. The young woman broke down in sobs when Ép pulled it out of her pocket, but was clearly grateful that she had honored her last promise to the man.

She looked to her right and saw Marius there with Cosette. They had married a few days before, and for a moment, she was able to close her eyes and picture herself and Enjolras in their place – mourning their loved ones, but safe in each other’s arms. Thankfully, the service moved outside quickly for the mass burial. She had suggested that the _Amis_ be buried as they had died – together – and it was quickly decided upon. She paid for the large lot out of her own pocket.

One by one, their coffins descended into the cold, hard earth – in the same order as when she had found them in the Café. The priest folded and gave her the red flag that had been placed over Enjolras’ coffin, and she managed to take it with something resembling a smile. Éponine cast her gaze down, letting the red flag slowly darken with her tears as she silently released all the emotion of the day.

“Excuse me, my dear…might I have a word?” a voice said behind her, and she turned, a bit surprised at the face behind her.

 _“Madame_ Enjolras,” Éponine murmured with a curtsey. The older woman regarded her, and Éponine was suddenly struck with the thought that Enjolras’ mother had lost him too. “Here, you should have this…he was your son,” she said, extending the flag to her.

She shook her head with a sad smile, pressing it into Éponine’s hand. “Keep it,” she said. “He would have wanted you to have it. He was more yours these last few months than mine, in any case.” Éponine nodded, pulling it close to her chest. “I wanted to thank you for that – for being with him and supporting him…his father and I never agreed with his ideas, and I wish now more than anything that I could have him back to say I’m sorry…”

Ép reached out and took the woman’s hand, squeezing it gently. “I loved him, _Madame_ …and I know he loved you to the end. He never blamed you for anything you may have said.”

She was surprised when the older woman reached out and hugged her. “Thank you,” she murmured in Éponine’s ear, before turning and leaving with her husband. She stood there for a moment, confused, but somehow a little less sad.

Éponine thought all the way back to the flat from the funeral, about what she would say to Enjolras if he were still there. As she unlocked the door and went inside, it suddenly occurred to her.

_“Enjolras, my love, my life…I’ll always be yours._


	14. Epilogue

_Many years later, as an old woman, Éponine Thénardier would lay on her deathbed, alone in the very same flat, and remember these things – laying eyes on him for the first time, and for the last…_

_As she felt her life slowly slipping away – her heartbeat slowing down, her limbs going cold – she realized that she wasn’t afraid anymore. Rather, she smiled as she remembered the Marble Man she had loved, and the way she had been the only one to crack him._

_She remembered his smile, his laugh, the hypnotized way he had watched her dance for the first time – in better days, when they were younger; when she was beautiful, he was handsome, and when love was easier, though life was harder. She remembered the countless nights they’d stolen away in the Café, the fights they’d had and gotten over, and the way they made love like they’d never see each other again, like they were making up for all the lost time._

You’ll see him again soon, Ép…it won’t be long now…

_Sure enough – as her vision slowly darkened, she could see him, and he was smiling. He looked exactly the same as the day he died – the red jacket, the white shirt, the tricolor pin on the jacket lapel, the black pants and boots – but now golden, with an ethereal glow like an angel._

_“I knew you’d be coming soon, Ép,” he said. His voice was different now – it was a little deeper than she remembered, and it almost echoed. “You know what they say; love conquers all. Including death.”_

_She looked down at herself, and was shocked – she was her 18-year-old self again. She tried to speak, and noticed that her voice was almost doing the same thing as his. “Enjolras…Damien…” she corrected herself. “Am…I…?”_

_“Dying?” he asked softly. “Yes. But don’t worry; it’s as quick and easy as falling asleep. It even was for me. The question is…” he looked over his shoulder, where a light was shining behind him, before looking back at her. “Are you ready?”_

_“To be with you again?” Éponine asked just as softly, looking into his eyes. “Damien, my darling, I never wanted to live without you. I’ve been waiting for this for 60 years.”_

_He smiled, reaching out to her. “Come with me, Éponine.”_

_A moment of pause, both of them staring into the other’s eyes._

_Then she took his hand._


End file.
